-NRLF 


13    MD3 


GIFT  OF 


EVANGELINE, 


A    TALE    OF  A  CAD  IE. 


HENRY     W.    LONGFELLOW. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    F.  O.  C.  BARLEY. 


BOSTON : 

TICKNOR     AND    .FIELDS. 
1867. 


GIFT  01 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

HENRY    W.    LONGFELLOW, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


95 


\&Lf7 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Engravings  by  A.  V.  S.  ANTHONY. 
I.      EVANGELINE •       Title-Page 

II.     "  Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest, 

and  the  children 
Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended 

to  bless  them"      .        .         .        .        .        .         13 

III.  "  When  in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to  the  reapers 

at  noontide 
Flagons  of  home-brewed   ale,  ah  !    fair    in    sooth 

was  the  maiden  " 16 

IV.  "  There  at  the  door  they  stood,  with  wondering  eyes 

to  behold  him 
Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as 

a  plaything " .21 

V.  "  In  silent  and  mournful  procession, 

Game  from  the  neighboring  hamlets  and  farms  the 

Acadian  women, 
Driving  in  ponderous  wains  their  household  goods 

to  the  sea-shore "  .        .        .        .         .  ;     .        65 


M103150 


iv  List  of  Illustrations. 

VI.  "  Then  in  his  place,  at  the  prow  of  the  boat,  rose 

one  of  the  oarsmen, 
And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  perad- 

venture 
Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight  streams, 

blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle  "   .         .         .         .        93 

VII.  "  He  blew  a  blast,  that  resounded 

Wildly  and  sweet  and  far,  through  the  still  damp 

air  of  the  evening  " 106 

VIII.  "  Day  after  day,  with  their  Indian  guides,  the  maid 
en  and  Basil 
Followed  his  flying  steps,  and  thought  each  day 

to  o'ertake  him "  .         .         .         .         .         .       126 

IX.  "  Evangeline,  kneeling  beside  him, 

Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her 

bosom" 153 

X.    THE  CHURCHYARD 157 


EVANGELINE, 


A   TALE   OF    ACADIE. 


EVANGELINE. 


'T^HIS  is  the  forest  primeval.  The  murmur 
ing  pines  and  the  hemlocks, 

Bearded  with  moss,  and  in  garments  green,  in 
distinct  in  the  twilight, 

Stand  like  Druids  of  eld,  with  voices  sad  and 
prophetic, 

Stand  like  harpers  hoar,  with  beards  that  rest 
on  their  bosoms. 

Loud  from  its  rocky  caverns,  the  deep-voiced 
neighboring  ocean 

Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the 
wail  of  the  forest. 


This  is  the  forest  primeval  ;  but  where  are 
the  hearts  that  beneath  it 

Leaped  like  the  roe2j  when  he  hears  in  the 
woodland  the  voice  of  the  huntsman  ? 

Where  is  the  thatch-roofed  village,  the  home 
of  Acadian  farmers, — 

Men  whose  lives  glided  on  like  rivers  that  water 
the  woodlands, 

Darkened  by  shadows  of  earth,  but  reflecting 
an  image  of  heaven  ? 

Waste  are  those  pleasant  farms,  and  the  farm 
ers  forever  departed ! 

'  I  \),<1sll-!slsl^{^ 

Scattered  like  dust  and  leaves,  when  the  mighty 

blasts  of  October 
Seize  them,  and  whirl  them  aloft,  and  sprinkle 

them  far  o'er  the  ocean. 
Naught  but   tradition  remains   of  the   beautiful 

village  of  Grand-Pre. 

Ye  who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and 
endures,  and  is  patient, 


Evangeline.  9 

Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and  strength  of 

woman's  devotion^ 
List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung  by  the 

pines  of  the  forest ; 
List  to  a  Tale  of  Love  in  Acadie,  home  of  the 

happy. 


PART    THE    FIRST. 


I. 

TN  the   Acadian   land,  on  the  shores   of  the 

Basin  of  Minas, 
Distant,    secluded,    still,    the    little   village     of 

Grand-Pre 
Lay    in    the     fruitful    valley,      Vast     meadows 

stretched   to   the    eastward, 
Giving    the    village    its    name,    and    pasture    to 

flocks   without   number. 
Dikes,  that  the  hands  of  the  farmers  had  raised 

with  labor  incessant, 
Shut   out   the   turbulent   tides ;   but    at    stated 

seasons   the   flood-gates 


12  Evangeline. 

Opened,  and   welcomed   the   sea   to   wander   at 

will  o'er  the  meadows. 
West  and  south  there    were   fields  of  flax,    and 

orchards    and    cornfields 
Spreading   afar    and    unfenced    o'er   the   plain ; 

and  away  to  the  northward 
Blomidon  rose,  and  the  forests  old,  and  aloft  on 

the  mountains 
Sea-fogs  pitched  their  tents,  and  mists  from  the 

mighty  Atlantic 
Looked    on    the    happy  valley,  but   ne'er   from 

their  station  descended./ 
There,  in  the  midst   of  its   farms,    reposed   the 

Acadian  village. 
Strongly  built  were  the  houses,  with  frames  of 

oak  and  of  chestnut, 
Such  as  the  peasants  of  Normandy  built  in  the 

reign  of  the  Henries. 
Thatched  were  the  roofs,  with  dormer-windows ; 

and  gables  projecting 


Evangeline.  13 

Over  the  basement  below  protected  and  shaded 
the  door-way. 

There  in  the  tranquil  evenings  of  summer,  when 
brightly  the  sunset 

Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes 
on  the  chimneys, 

Matrons   and    maidens    sat    in   snow-white  caps 
and  in  kirtles 

Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with  distaffs    spin 
ning  the  golden 

Flax  for  the  gossiping  looms,  whose  noisy  shut 
tles  within  doors 

Mingled    their    sound    with    the    whir    of    the 
wheels   and  the  songs  of  the  maidens. 

Solemnly   down    the    street     came    the     parish 
priest,  and   the  children 

Paused  in  their    play  to  kiss   the   hand   he   ex 
tended  to  bless  them. 

Reverend  walked  he  among  them ;  and  up  rose 
matrons  and  maidens, 


14  Evangeline. 

Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  af 
fectionate  welcome. 

Then  came  the  laborers  home  from  the  field, 
and  serenely  the  sun  sank 

Down  to  his  rest,  and  twilight  prevailed.  Anon 
from  the  belfry 

Softly  the  Angelas  sounded,  and  over  the  roofs 
of  the  village 

Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  in 
cense  ascending, 

Rose  from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of 
peace  and  contentment. 

Thus  dwelt  together  in  love  these  simple  Aca 
dian  farmers, — 

Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.  Alike 
were  they  free  from 

Fear,  that  reigns  with  the  tyrant,  and  envy,  the 
vice  of  republics. 

Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars 
to  their  windows  ; 


Evangeline.  1 5 

But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and  the 

hearts  of  the  owners  ; 
There   the   richest    was    poor,  and    the    poorest 

lived  in  abundance. 

Somewhat  apart  from  the  village,  and  nearer 
the  Basin  of  Minas, 

Benedict  Bellefontaine,  the  wealthiest  farmer  of 
Grand-Pre, 

Dwelt   on  his  goodly  acres  ;   and  with  him,  di 
recting  his  household, 

Gentle    Evangeline    lived,    his    child,    and    the 
pride  of  the  village. 

Stalworth  and  stately  in  form  was  the  man  of 

seventy  winters  ;     /y  / 

;    Hearty  and  hale  was  he,)  an  oak  that  is  covered 
,  with  snow-flakes ; 

White   as   the   snow    were    his    locks,   and   his 

cheeks  as  browrn  as   the   oak-leaves.  O^c^v^X 

Fair  was  she  to  behold,  that  maiden  of  seven 
teen  summers. 


1 6  Evangeline. 

Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that  grows  OE£ 

h    -"\  I ' 

the  thorn  by  the  wayside, 
Black,  yet  how  softly  they  gleamed  beneath  the 

brown  shade  of  her  tresses ! 
Sweet   was   her   breath    as  the   breath   of  kine 

that  feed  in  the  meadows. 
When   in    the    harvest   heat   she   bore    to    the 

reapers  at  noontide 
Flagons  of  home-brewed  ale,  ah  !   fair  in  sooth 

was  the  maiden. 
Fairer  was  she  when,   on   Sunday  morn,  while 

the  bell  from  its  turret 
Sprinkled  with  holy  sounds  the  air,  as  the  priest 

with  his  hyssop 

Sprinkles   the   congregation,  and  scatters  bless 
ings  upon  them, 
Down    the    long    street   she    passed,   with   her 

chaplet   of  beads   and   her   missal, 
Wearing   her   Norman    cap,  and   her   kirtle   of 

blue,  and  the  ear-rings, 


Evangeline.  1 7 

Brought  in  the  olden  time  from  France,  and 
since,  as  an  heirloom, 

Handed  down  from  mother  to  child,  through 
long  generations. 

But  a  celestial  brightness  —  a  more  ethereal 
beauty  — 

Shone  on  her  face  and  encircled  her  form, 
when,  after  confession, 

Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  God's 
benediction  upon  her. 

When  she  had  passed,  it  seemed  like  the  ceas 
ing  of  exquisite  music. 

Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house 
of  the  farmer 

Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding  the 
sea  ;  and  a  shady 

Sycamore  grew  by  the  door,  with  a  woodbine 
wreathing  around  it. 

Rudely  carved  was  the  porch,  with  seats  be 
neath  ;  and  a  footpath 


1 8  Evangeline. 

Led  through  an  orchard  wide,  and  disappeared 

in  the  meadow. 
Under  the   sycamore-tree  were   hives   overhung 

by  a  penthouse, 
Such   as   the   traveller   sees   in   regions   remote 

by  the  roadside, 
Built   o'er  a  box  for  the   poor,    or   the   blessed 

image  of  Mary. 
Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  was  the 

well  with  its  moss-grown 
Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a  trough 

_Jbr  the  horses. 
Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north, 

were  the  barns  and  the  farm-yard, 
There  stood  the   broad-wheeled  wains  and   the 

antique  ploughs  and  the  harrows  ; 
There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep  ;  and  there, 

in  his  feathered  seraglio, 
Strutted  the  lordly  turkey,  and  crowed  the  cock, 

with  the  selfsame 


Evangeline.  19 

Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  peni 
tent  Petep. 

Bursting  with   hay  Were.  ,the   barns,  themselves 

\    Vji^JW/Lv-r 
a  village.  •  In  each  one 

Far  o'er  the  gable  projected  a  roof  of  thatch  ; 
and  a  staircase, 

Under  the  sheltering  eaves,  led  up  to  the  odor 
ous  corn-loft. 

There  too  the  dove-cot  stood,  with  its  meek  and 
innocent  inmates 

Murmuring  ever  of  love  ;  while  above  in  the 
variant  breezes 

Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang 
of  mutation. 

Thus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world,  the 
farmer  of  Grand-Pre 

Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evangeline  gov 
erned  his  household. 

Many  a  youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  church  and 
opened  his  missal, 


2O  Evangeline. 

Fixed    his    eyes    upon    her,   as  the   saint   of  his 
deepest  devotion  ; 

Happy  was  he  who   might  touch  her  hand  or 
the  hem  of  her  garment ! 

Many  a  suitor  came  to  her  door,  by  the  dark 
ness  befriended, 

And,    as    he    knocked  and  waited    to    hear    the 
sound  of  her  footsteps, 

Knew  not. which  beat  the   louder,  his  heart  or 
the  knocker  of  iron  ; 

Or  at  the  joyous  feast  of  the   Patron  Saint  of 
the   village, 

Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the  dance 
as  he  whispered 

Hurried  words  of  love,  that  seemed  a  part  of 
the  music. 

But,  among  all  who  came,   young  Gabriel   only 
was  welcome  ; 

Gabriel  Lajeunesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  black 
smith, 


Evangeline.  2 1 

Who    was   a   mighty   man   in    the   village,    and 

honored  of  all  men  ; 
For,  since  the  birth  of  time,  throughout  all  ages 

and  nations, 
Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in  repute 

by  the  people. 
Basil  was  Benedict's  friend.     Their  children  from 

earliest  childhood 
Grew  up  together    as   brother  and   sister  ;    and 

Father  Felician, 
Priest  and  pedagogue   both   in   the  village,  had 

taught  them  their  letters 
Out  of  the   selfsame  book,  with   the  hymns  of 

the  church  and  the  plain-song. 
But  when   the  hymn   was   sung,   and   the    daily 

lesson  completed, 
Swiftly  they  hurried  away  to  the  forge  of  Basil 

the  blacksmith. 
There  at  the  door  they   stood,  with   wondering 

eyes  to  behold  him 


22  Evangeline. 

Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse 

as  a  plaything, 
Nailing  the  shoe  in  its  place  ;  whilp  near   him 

the  tire  of  the  cart-wheel 

Lay  like  a  fiery  snake,  coiled  round  in  a  circle 

j 
of  cinders. 

Oft    on   autumnal    eves,    when    without    in    the 

gathering  darkness 
Bursting  with  light  seemed  the  smithy,  through 

every  cranny  and  crevice, 
Warm  by   the   forge   within    they   watched    the 

laboring  bellows, 

And  as  its  panting  ceased,  and    the   sparks  ex 
pired  in  the  ashes, 
Merrily  laughed,  and  said  they  were  nuns  going 

into  the  chapel. 
Oft  on  sledges  in  winter,  as  swift  as  the   swoop 

of  the  eagle, 
Down  the  hillside  bounding,  they  glided    away 

o'er  the  meadow. 


Evangeline.  23 

Oft  in  the  barns  they  climbed  to  the  populous 

nests  on  the  rafters, 
Seeking  with  eager  eyes  that  wondrous    stone, 

which  the  swallow 
Brings  from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  restore  the 

sight  of  its  fledglings  ; 
Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the  nest 

of  the  swallow ! 
Thus   passed   a   few   swift   years,    and    they   no 

longer  were  children. 
He  was  a  valiant  youth,  and  his  face,  like  the 

face  of  the  morning, 
Gladdened  the  earth  with  its  light,  and  ripened 

thought  into  action. 
She   was   a   woman   now,    with    the   heart    and 

hopes  of  a  woman. 
"  Sunshine   of  Saint    Eulalie "    was    she    called ; 

for  that  was  the  sunshine 
Which,  as  the  farmers  believed,  would  load  their 

orchards  with  apples  ; 


24 


Evangeline. 


She,  too,  would  bring  to   her  husband's   house 

delight  and  abundance, 
Filling   it  full  of  love   and  the  ruddy  faces   of 

children. 


Evangeline.  25 


II. 


TVTOW  had  the  season  returned,  when  the 
nights  grow  colder  and  longer, 

And  the  retreating  sun  the  sign  of  the  Scor 
pion  enters./ 

Birds  of  passage  sailed  through  the  leaden  air, 
from  the  ice-bound, 

Desolate  northern  bays  to  the  shores  of  trop 
ical  islands. 

Harvests  were  gathered  in  ;  and  wild  with  the 
winds  of  September 

Wrestled  the  trees  of  the  forest,  as  Jacob  of  old 

\t^^ 
with  the  angel. 

All  the  signs  foretold  a  winter  long  and  inclem 
ent. 

Bees,  with  prophetic  instinct  of  want,  had  hoard 
ed  their  honey 


26  Evangeline. 

Till  the  hives  overflowed ;  and  the  Indian  hunt 
ers  asserted 

Cold  would  the  winter  be,  for  thick  was  the 
fur  of  the  foxes. 

Such  was  the  advent  of  autumn.  Then  fol 
lowed  that  beautiful  season, 

Called  by  the  pious  Acadian  peasants  the  Sum 
mer  of  All-Saints! 

Filled  was  the  air  with  a  dreamy  and  magical 
light  ;  and  the  landscape 

Lay  as  if  new-created  in  all  the  freshness  of 
childhood. 

Peace  seemed  to  reign  upon  earth,  and  the  rest 
less  heart  of  the  ocean 

Was  for  a  moment  consoled.  All  sounds  were 
in  harmony  blended. 

Voices  of  children  at  play,  the  crowing  of  cocks 
in  the  farm-yards, 

Whir  of  wings  in  the  drowsy  air,  and  the  coo 
ing  of  pigeons, 


Evangeline.  27 

All  were  subdued  and  low  as  the  murmurs  of 
love,  and  the  great  sun 

Looked  with  the  eye  of  love  through  the  golden 
vapors  around  hinij 

While  arrayed  in  its  robes  of  russet  and  scarlet 
and  yellow, 

Bright  with    the    sheen  of  the   dew,    each    glit 
tering  tree  of  the  forest 

Flashed  like  the  plan^tree  the.nJPersian,  adorned 
with  mantles  and  jewels. 

f 

Now  recommenced  the    reign  of  rest  and  af 
fection  and  stillness. 

Day  with  its  burden  and  heat  had  departed,  and 
twilight  descending 

Brought  back  the  evening  star  to  the  sky,  and 
the  herds  to  the  homestead. 

Pawing  the  ground  they  came,  and  resting  their 
necks  on  each  other, 

And  with  their  nostrils  distended  inhaling  the 
freshness  of  evening. 


28  Evangeline. 

Foremost,  bearing  the  bell,  Evangeline's  beautiful 

heifer, 
Proud  of  her  snow-white  hide,  and  the  ribbon  that 

waved  from  her  collar, 
Quietly  paced  and  slow,  as  if  conscious  of  human 

affection. 
Then  came  the  shepherd  back  with  his  bleating 

flocks  from  the  seaside, 
Where  was  their  favorite  pasture.     Behind  them 

followed  the  watch-dog, 
Patient,  full  of  importance,  and  grand  in  the  pride 

of  his  instinct, 
Walking  from  side  to  side  with  a  lordly  air,  and 

superbly 
Waving  his  bushy  tail,  and  urging  forward  the 

stragglers  ; 
Regent  of  flocks  was  he  when  the  shepherd  slept ; 

their  protector, 
When    from    the   forest   at   night,    through    the 

starry  silence,  the  wolves  howled. 


Evangeline.  29 

Late,  with  the  rising  moon,  returned  the  wains 

from  the  marshes, 
Laden  with  briny  hay,  that  filled  the  air  with  its 

odor. 
Cheerily  neighed  the  steeds,  with  dew  on  their 

manes  and  their  fetlocks, 
While  aloft  on  their  shoulders  the  wooden  and 

ponderous  saddles, 
Painted  with  brilliant   dyes,  and    adorned   with 

tassels  of  crimson, 
Nodded  in   bright  array,  like  hollyhocks  heavy 

with  blossoms. 
Patiently  stood  the  cows  meanwhile,  and  yielded 

their  udders 
Unto  the  milkmaid's  hand  ;  whilst  loud  and  in 

regular  cadence 
Into  the  sounding  pails  the  foaming   streamlets 

descended. 
Lowing  of  cattle  and  peals  of  laughter  were  heard 

in  the  farm-yard, 


30  Evangeline. 

Echoed  back  by  the  barns.    Anon  they  sank  into 

stillness  ; 
Heavily  closed,  with  a  jarring  sound,  the  valves 

of  the  barn-doors, 
Rattled  the  wooden  bars,  and  all  for  a  season 

was  silent. 

In-doors,  warm  by  the  wide-mouthed  fireplace, 

idly  the  farmer 
Sat  in  his  elbow-chair,    and   watched   how   the 

flames  and  the  smoke-wreaths 
Struggled  together  like  foes  in  a  burning  city. 

Behind  him, 
Nodding    and    mocking    along    the    wall,    with 

gestures  fantastic, 
Darted  his  own  huge  shadow,  and  vanished  away 

into  darkness. 
Faces,  clumsily  carved  in  oak,  on  the  back  of  his 

arm-chair 
Laughed  in  the  flickering  light,  and  the  pewter 

plates  on  the  dresser 


Evangeline.  3 1 

Caught  and   reflected  the   flame,   as   shields   of 
armies  the  sunshine. 

Fragments  of  song  the  old  man  sang,  and  carols 
of  Christmas, 

Such  as  at  home,  in  the  olden  time,  his  fathers 
before  him 

Sang  in  their  Norman  orchards  and  bright  J3ur- 
gundijir]^  vineyards. 

Close  at  her  father's  side  was  the  gentle  Evan 
geline  seated, 

Spinning  flax  for  the  loom,  that    stood   in    the 
corner  behind  her. 

Silent  awhile  were  its  treadles,  at  rest  was  its 
diligent  shuttle, 

While  the  monotonous  drone  of  the  wheel,  like 
the  drone  of  a  bagpipe, 

Followed  the  old  man's  song,  and  united  the  frag 
ments  together. 

As  in  a  church,  when  the  chant  of  the  choir  at 
intervals  ceases, 


32  Evangeline. 

Footfalls    are    heard    in   the  aisles,   or  words  of 

the  priest  at  the  altar, 
So,  in  each  pause  of  the   song,  with  measured 

motion  the  clock  clicked. 

Thus  as  they  sat,  there  were  footsteps  heard, 

and,  suddenly  lifted, 
Sounded  the  wooden  latch,  and  the  door  swung 

back  on  its  hinges. 
Benedict  knew  by  the  hob-nailed  shoes  it  was 

Basil  the  blacksmith, 
And  by  her  beating  heart  Evangeline  knew  who 

was  with  him. 

"  Welcome  !  "  the  farmer  exclaimed,  as  their  foot 
steps  paused  on  the  threshold, 
"  Welcome,  Basil,  my  friend  !       Come,  take  thy 

place  on  the  settle 
Close 'by  the  chimney-side,  which  is  always  empty 

without  thee ; 
Take  from  the  shelf  overhead  thy  pipe  and  the 

box  of  tobacco ; 


Evangeline.  3  3 

Never  so  much  thyself  art  thou  as  when  through 

the  curling 
Smoke  of  the  pipe  or  the  forge  thy  friendly  and 

jovial  face  gleams 
Round  and  red  as  the  harvest  moon  through  the 

mist  of  the  marshes." 

9 

Then,  with  a  smile   of  content,  thus    answered 

Basil  the  blacksmith, 
Taking  with  easy  air  the  accustomed  seat  by  the 

fireside  :  — 
"Benedict  Bellefontaine,  thou  hast  ever  thy  jest 

and  thy  ballad  ! 
Ever  in  cheerfullest  mood  art  thou,  when  others 

are  filled  with 
Gloomy  forebodings  of  ill,  and  see  only  ruin  before 

them. 
Happy  art  thou,  as  if  every  day  thou  hadst  picked 

up  a  horseshoe." 

Pausing  a  moment,  to  take  the  pipe  that  Evan 
geline  brought  him, 


34  Evangeline. 

And  with  a  coal  from  the  embers  had  lighted,  he 

slowly  continued  :  — 
"  Four  days  now  are  passed  since  the   English 

ships  at  their  anchors 
Ride  in  the  ^aspereau'^s  mouth,  with  their  cannon 

pointed  against  us. 
What  their  design  may  be  is  unknown  ;  but  all 

are  commanded 
On  the  morrow  to  meet  in  the  church,  where  his 

Majesty's  mandate 
Will  be  proclaimed  as  law  in  the  land.     Alas  !  in 

the  mean  time 
Many  surmises  of  evil   alarm  the  hearts   of  the 

people." 
Then  made  answer  the  farmer :  —  "  Perhaps  some 

friendlier  purpose 
Brings  these  ships  to  our  shores.     Perhaps  the 

harvests  in  England 
By  untimely  rains  or  untimelier  heat  have  been 

blighted, 


Evangeline.  35 

And  from  our  bursting  barns  they  would  feed 

their  cattle  and  children." 
"  Not  so  thinketh  the  folk  in  the  village,"  said, 

warmly,  the  blacksmith, 

Shaking  his  head,  as  in  doubt ;  then,  heaving  a 

* 

sigh,  he  continued  :  — 
"Louisburg  is  not  forgotten,  nor  Beau   Sejour, 

nor  Port  Royal. 
Many  already  have  fled  to  the  forest,  and  lurk  on 

its  outskirts, 
Waiting  with  anxious  hearts  the  dubious  fate  of 

to-morrow. 

Arms  have  been  taken  from  us,  and  warlike  weap 
ons  of  all  kinds  ; 
Nothing  is  left  but  the  blacksmith's  sledge  and 

the  scythe  of  the  mower." 
Then  with   a  pleasant   smile  made  answer  the 

jovial  farmer :  — 
"  Safer  are  we  unarmed,  in  the  midst  of  our  flocks 

and  our  cornfields, 


36  Evangeline. 

Safer  within  these  peaceful  dikes,  besieged  by  the 

ocean, 
Than  our  fathers  in  forts,  besieged  by  the  enemy's 

cannon. 
Fear  no  evil,   my  friend,  and  to-night  may  no 

shadow  of  sorrow 
Fall  on  this  house  and  hearth  ;  for  this   is  the 

night  of  the  contract. 
Built  are  the  house  and  the  barn.  The  merry  lads 

of  the  village 
Strongly  have  built  them  and  well ;  and,  breaking 

the  glebe  round  about  them, 
Filled  the  barn  with  hay,  and  the  house  with  food 

for  a  twelvemonth. 
Rene  Leblanc  will  be  here  anon,  with  his  papers 

and  inkhorn. 
Shall  we  not  then  be  glad,  and  rejoice  in  the  joy 

of  our  children  ?  " 
As  apart  by  the  window  she  stood,  with  her  hand 

in  her  lover's, 


Evangeline. 


37 


Blushing  Evangeline  heard  the  words  that  her 

father  had  spoken, 

And,  as  they  died  on  his  lips,  the  worthy  notary 
9        entered. 


38  Evangeline. 


III. 

TT)ENT  like  a  laboring   oar,   that  toils  in  the 

surf  of  the  ocean, 
Bent,  but  not  broken,  by  age  was  the  form  of  the 

notary  public  ; 
Shocks  of  yellow  hair,  like  the  silken  floss  of  the 

maize,  hung 
Over  his  shoulders  ;    his  forehead  was  high  ;    and 

glasses  with  horn  bows 
,  Sat  astride  on  his  nose,  with  a  look  of  wisdom 

supernal. 
Father  of  twenty  children  was  he,  and  more  than 

a  hundred 
Children's  children  rode  on  his  knee,  and  heard 

his  great  watch  tick. 
Four  long  years  in  the  times  of  the  war  had  he 

languished  a  captive, 


Evangeline.  39 

Suffering  much  in   an   old   French   fort  as  the 

friend  of  the  English. 
Now,  though  warier  grown,  without  all  guile  or 

suspicion, 
Ripe  in  wisdom  was  he,  but  patient,  and  simple, 

and  childlike. 
He  was  beloved  by  all,  and  most  of  all  by  the 

children  ; 
For  he  told  them  tales  of  the  Loup-garou  in  the 

forest, 
And  of  the  goblin  that  came  in  the  night  to 

water  the  horses, 
And  of  the  white  Letiche,  the  ghost  of  a  child 

who  unchristened 
Died,    and   was    doomed    to   haunt   unseen    the 

chambers  of  children  ; 
And  how  on  Christmas  eve  the  oxen  talked  in 

the  stable, 
,  And  how  the  fever  was  cured  by  a  spider  shut 

up  in  a  nutshell, 


40  Evangeline. 

And   of   the   marvellous   powers   of  four-leaved 

clover  and  horseshoes, 
With  whatsoever  else  was  writ  in  the  lore  of  the 

village. 
Then  up  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fireside  Basil 

the  blacksmith, 
Knocked  from   his    pipe    the    ashes,   and   slowly 

extending  his  right  hand, 
"  Father    Leblanc,"    he   exclaimed,    "  thou   hast 

heard  the  talk  in  the  village, 
And,    perchance,    canst    tell    us    some    news    of 

these  ships  and  their  errand/* 
Then  with    modest   demeanor  made  answer  the 

notary  public  :  — 
"Gossip  enough  have  I  heard,  in  sooth,  yet  am 

never  the  wiser ; 

And  what  their  errand  may  be  I  know  not  bet 
ter  than  others. 
Yet  am  I  not  of  those  who  imagine  some  evil 

intention 


Evangeline.  41 

Brings  them  here,  for  we  are  at  peace  ;  and  why 
then  molest  us  ? " 

"God's  name!"  shouted  the,  hasty  and  some 
what  irascible  blacksmith  ; 

"Must  we  in  all  things  look  for  the  how,  and 
the  why,  and  the  wherefore  ? 

Daily  injustice  is  done,  and  might  is  the  right 
of  the  strongest !  " 

But,  without  heeding  his  warmth,  continued  the 
notary  public :  — 

"Man  is  unjust,  but  God  is  just;  and  finally 
justice 

Triumphs ;  and  well  I  remember  a  story,  that 
often  consoled  me, 

When  as  a  captive  I  lay  in  the  old  French  fort 
at  Port  Royal." 

This  was  the  old  man's  favorite  tale,  and  he 
loved  to  repeat  it 

When  his  neighbors  complained  that  any  injus 
tice  was  done  them. 


42  Evangeline. 

"  Once  in  an  ancient  city,  whose  name  I  no 
longer  remember, 

Raised  aloft  on  a  column,  a  brazen  statue  of 
Justice 

Stood  in  the  public  square,  upholding  the  scales 
in  its  left  hand, 

And  in  its  right  a  sword,  as  an  emblem  that  jus 
tice  presided 

Over  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  the  hearts  and 

» 

homes  of  the  people. 
Even  the  birds  had  built  their  nests  in  the  scales 

of  the  balance, 
Having  no  fear  of  the  sword  that  flashed  in  the 

sunshine  above  them. 
But  in  the  course  of  time  the  laws  of  the  land 

were  corrupted  ; 
Might  took  the   place    of  right,    and    the  weak 

were  oppressed,  and  the  mighty 
Ruled  with  an  iron  rod.     Then  it  chanced  in  a 

nobleman's  palace 


Evangeline.  43 

ThaUa  necklace  of  pearls  was  lost,  and  erelong 

a  suspicion 
Fell  on  an  orphan  girl  who  lived  as  maid  in  the 

household. 
She,  after  form  of  trial  condemned  to  die  on  the 

scaffold, 
Patiently  met  her  doom  at  the  foot  of  the  statue 

of  Justice. 
As  to  her  Father  in  heaven  her  innocent  spirit 

ascended, 
Lo !    o'er  the  city  a  tempest  rose  ;    and  the  bolts 

of  the  thunder 
Smote  the  statue  of  bronze,  and  hurled  in  wrath 

from  its  left  hand 
Down    on   the   pavement    below    the    clattering 

scales  of  the  balance, 
And  in   the  hollow  thereof  was  found  the  nest 

of  a  magpie, 
Into    whose    clay-built   walls   the    necklace    of 

pearls  was  inwoven." 


44  Evangeline. 

Silenced,  but  not  convinced,  when  the  story  was 

ended,  the  blacksmith 
Stood   like    a   man    who   fain   would  speak,  but 

findeth  no  language  ; 
All  his  thoughts   were   congealed  into  lines  on 

his  face,  as  the  vapors 
Freeze  in  fantastic  shapes  on  the  window-panes 

in  the  winter. 

Then  Evangeline  lighted  the  brazen  lamp  on 
the  table, 

Filled,  till  it  overflowed,  the  pewter  tankard  with 
home-brewed 

Nut-brown  ale,  that  was  famed  for  its  strength 
in  the  village  of  Grand-Pre ; 

While  from  his  pocket  the  notary  drew  his  pa 
pers  and  inkhorn, 

Wrote  with  a  steady  hand  the  date  and  the  age 
of  the  parties, 

Naming  the  dower  of  the  bride  in  flocks  of 
sheep  arjd  in  cattle. 


Evangeline.  45 

Orderly  all  things  proceeded,  and  duly  and  well 

were  completed, 
And  the  great   seal   of  tfTe  law  was  set  like  a 

sun  on  the  margin. 
Then  from  his  leathern  pouch  the  farmer  threw 

on  the  table 
Three  times  the  old  man's  fee   in  solid  pieces 

of  silver ; 
And   the  notary  rising,   and  blessing  the  bride 

and  the  bridegroom, 
Lifted    aloft   the   tankard  of  ale   and    drank   to 

their  welfare. 
Wiping  the  foam  from  his  lip,  he  solemnly  bowed 

and   departed, 
While   in   silence  the  others  sat  and  mused  by 

the  fireside, 
Till  Evangeline  brought    the  draught-board  out 

of  its  corner. 

Soon  was  the   game   begun.      In   friendly  con 
tention  the  old  men 


46  Evangeline. 

Laughed  at  each  lucky  hit,  or  unsuccessful  ma 
noeuvre, 

Laughed  when  a  man  was  crowned,  or  a  breach 
was  made  in  the  king-row. 

.Meanwhile  apart,  in  the  twilight  gloom  of  a 
window's  embrasure, 

Sat  the  lovers,  and  whispered  together,  behold 
ing  the  moon  rise 

Over  the  pallid  sea  and  the  silvery  mist  of  the 
meadows. 

Silently  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of 
heaven, 

Blossomed  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots 
of  the  angels. 

Thus  was  the  evening  passed.     Anon  the  bell 

from  the  belfry 
Rang  out  the  hour  of  nine,  the  village  curfew, 

and  straightway 
Rose    the    guests    and   departed ;     and    silence 

reigned  in  the  household. 


Evangeline.  47 

Many   a   farewell   word   and    sweet   good   night 

on  the  door-step 
Lingered  long  in  Evangelfhe's  heart,  and  filled 

it  with  gladness. 
Carefully   then   were    covered    the   embers   that 

glowed  on  the  hearth-stone, 
And  on  the  oaken    stairs    resounded  the  tread 

of  the  farmer. 

Soon  with  a  soundless  step  the  foot  of  Evange 
line  followed. 
Up    the    staircase   moved    a   luminous    space  in 

the  darkness, 
Lighted  less  by  the  lamp  than  the  shining  face 

of  the  maiden. 
Silent  she  passed  the  hall,  and  entered  the  door 

of  her  chamber. 
Simple  that  chamber  was,  with   its  curtains  of 

white,  and  its  clothes-press 
Ample  and  high,  on  whose  spacious  shelves  were 

carefully  folded 


48  Evangeline. 

Linen  and  woollen  stuffs,  by  the  hand  of  Evange 
line  woven. 
This  was  the  precious  dower  she  would  bring  to 

her  husband  in  marriage, 
Better  than  flocks  and  herds,  being  proofs  of  her 

skill  as  a  housewife. 
Soon  she  extinguished  her  lamp,  for  the  mellow 

and  radiant  moonlight 
Streamed  through  the  windows,  and  lighted  the 

room,  till  the  heart  of  the  maiden 
Swelled  and  obeyed  its  power,  like  the  tremulous 

tides  of  the  ocean. 
Ah !  she  was  fair,  exceeding  fair  to  behold,  as  she 

stood  with 
Naked  snow-white  feet  on  the  gleaming  floor  of 

her  chamber! 
Little  she  dreamed  that  below,  among  the  trees 

of  the  orchard, 
Waited  her  lover  and  watched  for  the  gleam  of 

her  lamp  and  her  shadow. 


Evangeline.  49 

Yet  were  her  thoughts  of  him,  and  at  times  a 

feeling  of  sadness 
Passed  o'er  her  soul,  as  the  sailing  shade  of  clouds 

in  the  moonlight 
Flitted  across  the  floor  and  darkened  the  room 

for  a  moment. 
And,   as  she  gazed  from  the  window,   she  saw 

serenely  the  moon  pass 
Forth  from   the  folds  of  a  cloud,  and  one  star 

follow  her  footsteps, 
As  out  of  Abraham's  tent  young  Ishmael  wandered 

with  Hagar ! 


So  Evangeline. 


IV. 


"PLEASANTLY  rose  next  morn  the  sun  on 

the  village  of  Grand-Pre. 
Pleasantly  gleamed   in   the   soft,   sweet   air   the 

Basin  of  Minas, 
Where  the  ships,  with  their  wavering  shadows, 

were  riding  at  anchor. 
Life   had   long   been   astir   in    the   village,    and 

clamorous  labor 
Knocked  with  its  hundred  hands  at.  the  golden 

gates  of  the  morning. 
Now  from  the  country  around,  from   the  farms 

and  neighboring  hamlets, 
Came  in  their  holiday  dresses  the  blithe  Acadian 

peasants. 
Many  a  glad  good  morrow  and  jocund  laugh  from 

the  young  folk 


Evangeline.  5 1 

Made   the  bright  air  brighter,   as  up  from   the 

numerous  meadows, 
Where  no  path  could  be  seen  but  the  track  of 

wheels  in  the  greensward, 
Group  after  group  appeared,  and  joined,  or  passed 

on  the  highway. 
Long  eVe  noon,  in  the  village  all  sounds  of  labor 

were  silenced. 
Thronged    were   the   streets   with   people ;   and 

noisy  groups  at  the  house-doors 
Sat  in  the  cheerful  sun,  and  rejoiced  and  gossiped 

together. 
Every  house  was  an  inn,  where  all  were  welcomed 

and  feasted  ; 

For  with  this  simple  people,  who  lived  like  broth 
ers  together, 
All  things  were  held  in  common,  and  what  one 

had  was  another's. 
Yet   under   Benedict's   roof   hospitality    seemed 

more  abundant : 


5  2  Evangeline. 

For  Evangeline  stood  among  the  guests  of  her 

father ; 
Bright  was  her  face  with   smiles,  and  words   of 

welcome  and  gladness 
Fell  from  her  beautiful  lips,  and  blessed  the  cup 

as  she  gave  it. 

Under  the  open  sky,  in  the  odorous  air  of  the 

orchard, 
Stript  of  its  golden  fruit,  was  spread  the  feast  of 

betrothal. 
There  in  the  shade  of  the  porch  were  the  priest 

and  the  notary  seated  ; 
There  good  Benedict  sat,  and  sturdy  Basil   the 

blacksmith. 
Not  far  withdrawn  from  these,  by  the  cider-press 

and  the  beehives, 
Michael  the  fiddler  was  placed,  with  the  gayest 

of  hearts  and  of  waistcoats. 
Shadow  and    light   from    the   leaves   alternately 

played  on  his  snow-white 


Evangeline.  53 

Hair,  as  it  waved  in  the  wind  ;  and  the  jolly  face 
of  the  fiddler 

Glowed  like  a  living  coal  when  the  ashes  are 
blown  from  the  embers. 

Gayly  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant  sound  of 
his  fiddle, 

Tons  les  Bourgeois  de  Chartres,  and  Le  Carillon  de 
Dunkerque, 

And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat  time  to 
the  music. 

Merrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzy 
ing  dances 

Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  path  to 
the  meadows  ; 

Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  children  min 
gled  among  them. 

Fairest  of  all  the  maids  was  Evangeline,  Bene 
dict's  daughter! 

Noblest  of  all  the  youths  was  Gabriel,  son  of 
the  blacksmith ! 


54  Evangeline. 

So  passed  the  morning  away.  And  lo!  with 
a  summons  sonorous 

Sounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the 
meadows  a  drum  beat. 

Thronged  erelong  was  the  church  with  men. 
Without,  in  the  churchyard, 

Waited  the  women.  They  stood  by  the  graves, 
and  hung  on  the  headstones 

Garlands  of  autumn-leaves  and  evergreens  fresh 
from  the  forest. 

Then  came  the  guard  from  the  ships,  and  march 
ing  proudly  among  them 

Entered  the  sacred  portal.  With  loud  and  dis 
sonant  clangor 

Echoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen  drums  from 
ceiling  and  casement,  — 

Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  pon 
derous  portal 

Closed,  and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited  the 
will  of  the  soldiers. 


Evangcline.  5  5 

Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from 

the  steps  of  the  altar, 
Holding  aloft   in  his  hands,  with   its  seals,  the 

royal  commission. 
-"You  are  convened  this  day,"  he  said,  "by  his 

Majesty's  orders. 
Clement  and  kind  has  he  been  ;   but  how  you 

have  answered  his  kindness, 
Let   your   own   hearts   reply  !      To  my  natural 

make  and  my  temper 
Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  I  know 

must  be  grievous. 
Yet  must  I  bow  and  obey,  and  deliver  the  will 

of  our  monarch  ; 
Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwellings,  and 

cattle  of  all  kinds 

Forfeited  be  to  the  crown  ;    and  that  you  your 
selves  from  this  province 

v  ^J^^CVW*/      / 

Be  transported  to  other  lands.     God  grant  you 
may  dwell  there 


56  Evangeline. 

Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable 

people ! 
Prisoners  now   I    declare   you ;   for   such  is  his 

Majesty's  pleasure  !  "  — [ 
As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice 

of  summer, 
Suddenly  gathers  a  storm,  and  the  deadly  sling 

of  the  hailstones   ) 
Beats  down  the  farmer's  corn  in  the  field  and 

shatters  his  windows, 
Hiding  the  sun,  and   strewing  the  ground  with 

thatch  from  the  house-roofs, 
Bellowing  fly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their 

enclosures  ; 
So  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  descended  the 

words  of  the  speaker. 

Silent  a  moment  they  stood  in  speechless  won 
der,  and  then  rose 
Louder  and  ever  louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and 

anger, 


Evangeline.  5  7 

And,  by  one  impulse  moved,  they  madly  rushed 

to  the  door-way. 
Vain  was  the    hope    of  escape  ;    and  cries  and 

fierce  imprecations 
Rang  through   the  house  of  prayer ;    and  high 

o'er  the  heads  of  the  others 
Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  Basil 

the  blacksmith, 
As,  on  a  stormy  sea,  a  spar  is   tossed  by  the 

billows. 
Flushed  was  his  face  and  distorted  with  passion  ; 

and  wildly  he  shouted, — 
"Down  with  the  tyrants  of  England!   we  never 

have  sworn  them  allegiance  ! 
Death   to  these   foreign    soldiers,    who   seize  on 

our  homes  and  our  harvests  ! " 
More  he  fain   would  have  said,  but  the  merci 
less  hand  of  a  soldier 
Smote  him  upon  the  mouth,  and  dragged  him 

down  to  the  pavement. 


58  Evangeline. 

In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  angry 

contention, 
Lo !  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and  Father 

Felician 
Entered,  with   serious   mien,    and  ascended  the 

steps  of  the  altar. 
Raising  his  reverend   hand,  with  a  gesture  he 

awed  into  silence 
All  that  clamorous  throng ;    and  thus  he  spake 

to  his  people  ; 
Deep   were   his   tones  and  solemn ;    in   accents 

measured  and  mournful 
Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly 

the  clock  strikes. 
"  What  is  this  that  ye  do,  my  children  ?    what 

madness  has  seized  you  ? 
Forty  years  of  my  life  have   I  labored  among 

you,  and  taught  you, 
Not  in  word   alone,   but   in   deed,   to  love  one 

another ! 


Evangeline.  59 

Is  this  the  fruit  of  my  toils,  of  my  vigils  and 

prayers  and  privations  ? 
Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons  of  love 

and  forgiveness  ? 
This  is  the  house   of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and 

would  you  profane  it 
Thus  with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing 

with  hatred  ? . 
Lo !   where  the  crucified   Christ  from   his  cross 

is  gazing  upon  you ! 
See!    in    those    sorrowful    eyes    what   meekness 

and  holy  compassion ! 
Hark !    how  those  lips   still   repeat  the  prayer, 

'  O  Father,  forgive  them  ! ' 
Let  us  repeat  that  prayer  in  the  hour  when  the 

wicked  assail  us, 

Let  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  'O  Father,  for 
give  them!"1 
Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the 

hearts  of  his  people 


60  Evangeline. 

Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition  succeeded  the 

passionate  outbreak, 
While  they  repeated  his  prayer,   and   said,   "  O 

Father,  forgive  them  !  " 

Then  came  the  evening  service.  The  tapers 
gleamed  from  the  altar. 

Fervent  and  deep  was  the  voice  of  the  priest, 
and  the  people  responded, 

Not  with  their  lips  alone,  but  their  hearts  ;  and 
the  Ave  Maria 

Sang  they,  and  fell  on  their  knees,  and  their 
souls,  with  devotion  translated, 

Rose  on  the  ardor  of  prayer,  like  Elijah  ascend 
ing  to  heaven. 

Meanwhile  had  spread  in  the  village  the  tid 
ings  of  ill,  and  on  all  sides 
Wandered,   wailing,    from    house   to   house   the 
women  and  children. 


Evangeline.  61 

Long  at  her  father's  door  Evangeline  stood, 
with  her  right  hand 

Shielding  her  eyes  from  the  level  rays  of  the 
sun,  that,  descending, 

Lighted  the  village  street  with  mysterious  splen 
dor,  and  roofed  each 

Peasant's  cottage  with  golden  thatch,  and  em 
blazoned  its  windows. 

Long  within  had  been  spread  the  snow-white 
cloth  on  the  table ; 

There  stood  the  wheaten  loaf,  and  the  honey 
fragrant  with  wild-flowers  ; 

There  stood  the  tankard  of  ale,  and  the  cheese 
fresh  brought  from  the  dairy  ; 

And,  at  the  head  of  the  board,  the  great  arm 
chair  of  the  farmer. 

Thus  did  Evangeline  wait  at  her  father's  door, 
as  the  sunset 

Threw  the  long  shadows  of  trees  o'er  the  broad 
ambrosial  meadows. 


62  Evangeline. 

Ah !  on  her  spirit  within  a  deeper  shadow  had 
fallen, 

And  from  the  fields  of  her  soul  a  fragrance 
celestial  ascended, — 

Charity,  meekness,  love,  and  hope,  and  forgive 
ness,  and  patience  ! 

Then,  all-forgetful  of  self,  she  wandered  into 
the  village, 

Cheering  with  looks  and  words  the  mournful 
hearts  of  the  women, 

As  o'er  the  darkening  fields  with  lingering  steps 
they  departed. 

Urged  by  their  household  cares,  and  the  weary 
feet  of  their  children. 

Down  sank  the  great  red  sun,  and  in  golden,  glim 
mering  vapors 

Veiled  the  light  of  his  face,  like  the  Prophet 
descending  from  Sinai. 

Sweetly  over  the  village  the  bell  of  the  Angelus 
sounded. 


Evangeline.  63 

Meanwhile,  amid  the  gloom,  by  the  church  Evan- 
geline  lingered. 

All  was  silent  within  ;  and"  in  vain  at  the  door 
and  the  windows 

Stood  she,  and  listened  and  looked,  till,  over 
come  by  emotion, 

"  Gabriel !  "  cried  she  aloud  with  tremulous  voice ; 
but  no  answer 

Came  from  the  graves  of  the  dead,  nor  the 
gloomier  grave  of  the  living.) 

Slowly  at  length  she  returned  to  the  tenantless 
house  of  her  father. 

Smouldered  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  on  the  board 
was  the  supper  untasted, 

Empty  and  drear  was  each  room,  and  haunted 
with  phantoms  of  terror. 

Sadly  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and  the  floor 
of  her  chamber. 

In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the  discon 
solate  rain  fall 


64  Evangeline. 

Loud  on  the  withered  leaves  of  the  sycamore-tree 
by  the  window. 

Keenly  the  lightning  flashed  ;  and  the  voice  of 
the  echoing  thunder 

Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and  governed 
the  world  he  created  ! 

Then  she  remembered  the  tale  she  had  heard  of 
the  justice  of  Heaven ; 

Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  and  she  peace 
fully  slumbered  till  morning. 


Evangeline.  65 


V. 


times  the  sun  had  risen  and  set;   and 

now  on  the  fifth  day 
Cheerily  called  the  £ock  to  the  sleeping  maids 

of  the  farm-house. 
Soon  o'er  the  yellow  fields,  in  silent  and  mournful 

procession, 
Came  from  the  neighboring  hamlets  and  farms 

the  Acadian  women, 
Driving  in  ponderous  wains  their  household  goods 

to  the  sea-shore, 
Pausing  and  looking  back  to  gaze  once  more  on 

their  dwellings, 
Ere  they  were  shut  from  sight  by  the  winding 

road  and  the  woodland. 
Close  at  their  sides  their  children  ran,  and  urged 

on  the  oxen, 

5 


66  Evangeline. 

While  in   their  little  hands  they  clasped  some 
fragments  of  playthings. 

Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  they  hurried  ; 

and  there  on  the  sea-beach 
Piled  in    confusion  lay  the  household  goods  of 

the  peasants. 
All  day  long  between  the  shore   and  the  ships 

did  the  boats  ply ; 
All  day  long  the  wains  came  laboring  down  from 

the  village. 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  near 

to  his  setting, 
Echoed  far  o'er  the  fields  came  the  roll  of  drums 

from  the  churchyard. 
Thither  the  women  and  children  thronged.     On 

a  sudden  the  church-doors 
Opened,  and  forth  came  the  guard,  and  marching 

in  gloomy  procession 

Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  patient,  Aca 
dian  farmers. 


Evangeline.  67 

Even  as  pilgrims,  who  journey  afar  from  their 

homes  and  their  country, 
Sing  as  they  go,  and  in  singing  forget  they  are 

weary  and  wayworn, 
So  with  songs  on  their  lips  the  Acadian  peasants 

descended 
Down  from  the  church  to  the  shore,  amid  their 

wives  and  their  daughters. 
Foremost   the   young   men    came ;    and,    raising 

together  their  voices, 
Sang  with  tremulous  lips  a  chant  of  the  Catholic 

Missions  :  — 
"  Sacred  heart  of  the  Saviour  !     O  inexhaustible 

fountain ! 

Fill  our  hearts  this  day  with  strength  and  sub 
mission  and  patience !  " 
Then   the    old  men,   as  they  marched,   and  the 

women  that  stood  by  the  wayside 
Joined  in  the  sacred  psalm,  and  the  birds  in  the 

sunshine  above  them 


68  Evangeline. 

Mingled   their   notes   therewith,   like   voices   of 
spirits  departed. 

Half-way  down  to  the  shore  Evangeline  waited 

in  silence, 
Not  overcome  with  grief,  but  strong  in  the  hour 

*  ol  affliction,  — 
Calmly  and  sadly  she  waited,  until  the  procession 

approached  her, 
And  she  beheld   the  face  of  Gabriel  pale  with* 

emotion. 
Tears  then  filled  her  eyes,  and,  eagerly  running 

to  meet  him, 
Clasped  she  his  hands,  and  laid  her  head  on  his 

shoulder,  and  whispered, — 
"  Gabriel !  be  of  good  cheer  !  for  if  we  love  one 

another, 

Nothing,  in  truth,  can  harm  us,  whatever  mis 
chances  may  happen!" 
Smiling  she  spake  these  words ;  then   suddenly 

paused,  for  her  father 


Evangeline.  69 

Saw  she  slowly  advancing.     Alas !  how  changed 

was  his  aspect ! 
Gone  was  the  glow  from  his  cheek,  and  the  fire 

from  his  eye,  and  his  footstep 
Heavier  seemed  with  the  weight  of  the  heavy 

heart  in  his  bosom. 
But  with   a   smile  and   a  sigh,   she  clasped  his 

neck  and  embraced  him, 
Speaking  words  of  endearment  where  words  of 

comfort  availed  not. 
Thus  to  the   Gaspereau's  mouth  moved  on  that 

mournful  procession. 

There  disorder  prevailed,  and  the  tumult  and 
stir  of  embarking. 

Busily  plied  the  freighted  boats  ;  and  in  the  con 
fusion 

Wives  were  torn  from  their  husbands,  and  moth 
ers,  too  late,  saw  their  children 

Left  on  the  land,  extending  their  arms,  with 
wildest  entreaties. 


/o  Evangeline. 

So  unto  separate  ships  were  Basil  and  Gabriel 
carried, 

While  in  despair  on  the  shore  Evangeline  stood 
with  her  father. 

Half  the  task  was  not  done  when  the  sun  went 
down,  and  the  twilight 

Deepened  and  darkened  around  ;  and  in  haste 
the  refluent  ocean 

Fled  away  from  the  shore,  and  left  the  line  of 
the  sand-beach 

Covered  with  waifs  of  the  tide,  with  kelp  and 
the  slippery  sea-weed. 

Farther  back  in  the  midst  of  the  household  goods 
and  the  wagons, 

Like  to  a  gypsy  camp,  or  a  leaguer  after  a  bat 
tle, 

All  escape  cut  off  by  the  sea,  and  the  sentinels 
near  them, 

Lay  encamped  for  the  night  the  houseless  Aca 
dian  farmers. 


Evangeline.  7 1 

Back  to  its  nethermost  caves  retreated  the  bellow 
ing  ocean, 
Dragging  adown  the  beach  the  rattling  pebbles, 

and  leaving 
Inland  and  far  up  the  shore  the  stranded  boats 

of  the  sailors. 
Then,  as  the  night  descended,  the  herds  returned 

from  their  pastures ; 
Sweet  was  the  moist  still  air  with   the  odor  of 

milk  from  their  udders ; 
Lowing  they  waited,  and  long,  at  the  well-known 

bars  of  the  farm-yard,  — 
Waited   and   looked   in  vain  for  the  voice  and 

the  hand  of  the  milkmaid. 
Silence  reigned  in  the  streets  ;  from  the  church 

no  Angelus  sounded, 
Rose  no  smoke  from  the  roofs,  and  gleamed  no 

lights  from  the  windows. 

But  on  the  shores  meanwhile  the  evening  fires 
had  been  kindled, 


72  Evangeline. 

Built  of  the  drift-wood  thrown  on  the  sands  from 

wrecks  in  the  tempest. 
Round  them  shapes  of  gloom  and  sorrowful  faces 

were  gathered, 
Voices  of  women  were  heard,  and  of  men,  and 

the  crying  of  children. 
Onward  from  fire  to  fire,  as  from  hearth  to  hearth 

in  his  parish, 

Wandered  the  faithful  priest,  consoling  and  bless 
ing  and  cheering, 
Like  unto  shipwrecked  Paul  on  Melita's  desolate 

sea-shore. 
Thus  he  approached  the  place  where  Evangeline 

sat  with  her  father, 
And  in  the  flickering  light  beheld  the  face   of 

the  old  man, 
Haggard  and  hollow  and  wan,  and  without  either 

thought  or  emotion, 
E'en  as  the  face  of  a  clock  from  which  the  hands 

have  been  taken. 


Evangeline.  73 

Vainly  Evangeline  strove  with  words  and  caresses 

to  cheer  him, 
Vainly  offered  him  food ;  yet  he  moved  not,  he 

looked  not,  he  spake  not, 

But,  with  a  vacant  stare,  ever  gazed  at  the  flick 
ering  fire-light. 
"Benedicite!"  murmured  the  priest,  in  tones  of* 

compassion. 
More  he   fain   would    have    said,   but  his  heart 

was  full,  and  his  accents 
Faltered  and  paused  on  his  lips,  as  the  feet  of 

a  child  on  a  threshold, 
Hushed  by  the  scene  he  beholds,  and  the  awful 

presence  of  sorrow. 
Silently,  therefore,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  head 

of  the  maiden, 
Raising  his  tearful  eyes  to  the  silent  stars  that 

above  them 
Moved  on  their  way,  unperturbed  by  the  wrongs 

and  sorrows  of  mortals. 


74  Evangeline. 

Then  sat  he  down  at  her  side,  and  they  wept 
together  in  silence. 

Suddenly  rose  from  the   south  a  light,  as  in 

autumn  the  blood-red 
Moon   climbs  the  crystal  walls  of  heaven,  and 

o'er  the  horizon 
Titan-like    stretches    its    hundred    hands    upon 

mountain  and  meadow, 
Seizing  the  rocks  and  the  rivers,  and  piling  huge 

shadows  together. 
Broader  and  ever  broader  it  gleamed  on  the  roofs 

of  the  village, 
Gleamed  on  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  ships 

that  lay  in  the  roadstead. 
Columns  of  shining  smoke  uprose,  and  flashes 

of  flame  were 
Thrust  through  their  folds  and  withdrawn,   like 

the  quivering  hands  of  a  martyr. 
Then   as   the  wind   seized  the   gleeds   and   the 

burning  thatch,  and,  uplifting, 


Evangeline.  75 

Whirled  them  aloft  through  the  air,  at  once  from 

a  hundred  house-tops 
Started  the  sheeted  smoke  with  flashes  of  flame 

intermingled. 

These  things  beheld  in  dismay  the  crowd  on 

the  shore  and  on  shipboard. 
Speechless  at  first  they  stood,  then  cried  aloud 

in  their  anguish, 
"We   shall   behold  no  more   our  homes  in  the 

village  of  Grand-Pre  ! " 
Loud  on  a  sudden  the  cocks  began  to  crow  in 

the  farm-yards, 
Thinking   the  day  had  dawned ;  and  anon  the 

lowing  of  cattle 
Came  on  the  evening  breeze,  by  the  barking  of 

dogs  interrupted. 
Then  rose  a  sound  of  dread,  such  as  startles  the 

sleeping  encampments 
Far  in  the  western  prairies  or  forests  that  skirt 

the  Nebraska, 


76  Evangeline. 

When  the  wild  horses  affrighted  sweep  by  with 

the  speed  of  the  whirlwind, 
Or  the  loud  bellowing  herds  of  buffaloes  rush  to 

the  river. 
Such   was   the  sound  that  arose  on  the  night, 

as  the  herds  and  the  horses 
Broke  through  their  folds  and  fences,  and  madly 

rushed  o'er  the  meadows. 

Overwhelmed  with  the  sight,  yet  speechless, 

the  priest  and  the  maiden 
Gazed  on  the  scene  of  terror  that  reddened  and 

widened  before  them  ; 
And  as  they  turned  at  length  to  speak  to  their 

silent  companion, 
Lo !  from  his  seat  he  had  fallen,  and  stretched 

abroad  on  the  sea-shore 
Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  the  soul  had 

departed. 
Slowly  the  priest  uplifted  the  lifeless  head,  and 

the  maiden 


Evangeline.  77 

Knelt  at  her  father's  side,  and  wailed  aloud  in 

her  terror. 
Then  in  a  swoon  she  sank,  and  lay  with  her  head 

on  his  bosom. 
Through  the  long  night  she  lay  in  deep,  oblivious 

slumber ; 
And  when  she  woke  from  the  trance,  she  beheld 

a  multitude  near  her. 
Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were  mournfully 

gazing  upon  her, 
Pallid,   with   tearful  eyes,   and  looks  of  saddest 

compassion. 
Still  the  blaze  of  the  burning  village  illumined 

the  landscape, 
Reddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed  on  the 

faces  around  her, 
And   like   the  day   of  doom   it   seemed   to  her 

wavering  senses. 
Then  a  familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it  said  to 

the  people, — 


78  Evangeline. 

"  Let  us  bury  him  here  by  the   sea.     When  a 

happier  season 
Brings  us  again  to  our  homes  from  the  unknown 

land  of  our  exile, 
Then    shall   his   sacred  dust  be  piously  laid  in 

the  churchyard." 
Such  were  the  words  of  the  priest.     And  there  in 

haste  by  the  seaside, 
Having  the  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  funeral 

torches, 
But  without  bell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer 

of  Grand-Pre. 

And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  repeated  the  ser 
vice  of  sorrow, 
Lo  !  with  a  mournful  sound,  like  the  voice  of  a 

vast  congregation, 
Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mingled  its  roar 

with  the  dirges. 
'Twas   the   returning   tide,   that   afar   from   the 

waste  of  the  ocean, 


Evangeline.  79 

With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  came  heaving 

and  hurrying  landward. 
Then  recommenced  once  more  the  stir  and  noise 

of  embarking ; 
And  with  the  ebb   of  the  tide  the  ships   sailed 

out  of  the  harbor, 
Leaving  behind  them  the   dead   on    the    shore, 

and  the  village  in  ruins. 


PART    THE    SECOND. 


I. 

'ANY  a  weary  year  had  passed  since  the 

burning  of  Grand-Pr£, 
When  on  the  falling  tide  the  freighted  vessels 

departed, 
Bearing  a  nation,   with   all  its  household  gods, 

into  exile, 
Exile  without  an  end,  and  without  an  example 

in  story. 
Far  asunder,  on  separate  coasts,  the   Acadians 

landed ; 
Scattered  were  they,  like  flakes  of  snow,  when 

the  wind  from  the  northeast 


Evangeline.  8 1 


Strikes  aslant  through  the  fogs  that  darken  th£ 
Banks  of  Newfoundland. 

Friendless,  homeless,  hopeless,  they  wandered 
from  city  to  city, 

From  the  cold  lakes  of  the  North  to  sultry  South 
ern  savannas,  — 

From  the  bleak  shores  of  the  sea  to  the  lands 
where  the  Father  of  Waters 

Seizes  the  hills  in  his  hands,  and  drags  them 
down  to  the  ocean,/ ^ 

Deep  in  their  sands  to  bury  the  scattered  bones 
of  the  mammoth. 

Friends  they  sought  and  homes  ;  and  many,  de 
spairing,  heart-broken, 

Asked  of  the  earth  but  a  grave,  and  no  longer 
a  friend  nor  a  fireside. 

Written  their  history  stands  on  tablets  of  stone 
in  the  churchyards. 

Long  among  them  was  seen  a  maiden  who  waited 
and  wandered, 


82  Evangeline. 

Lowly  and  meek  in  spirit,  and  patiently  suffering 

all  things. 
Fair  was  she  and  young ;  but,  alas !  before  her 

extended, 
Dreary  and  vast  and  silent,   the  desert  of  life, 

with  its  pathway 
Marked  by  the  graves  of  those  who  had  sorrowed 

and  suffered  before  her, 
Passions  long  extinguished,  and  hopes  long  dead 

and  abandoned, 
As  the  emigrant's  way  o'er  the  Western  desert 

is  marked  by 
Camp-fires  long  consumed,  and  bones  that  bleach 

in  the  sunshine. 

Something  there  was  in  her  life  incomplete,  im 
perfect,  unfinished ; 
As  if  a  morning  of  June,  with  all  its  music  and 

sunshine, 
Suddenly  paused  in  the  sky,  and,  fading,  slowly 

descended 


Evangeline.  83 

Into   the   east   again,   from   whence  it  late  had 

arisen.  ^ 

Sometimes  she  lingered  in  towns,  till,  urged  by 

the  fever  within  her, 
Urged   by   a   restless   longing,   the   hunger  and 

thirst  of  the  spirit, 
She  would  commence  again  her  endless  search 

and  endeavor; 
Sometimes  in  churchyards  strayed,  and  gazed  on 

the  crosses  and  tombstones, 
Sat  by  some  nameless  grave,  and  thought  that 

perhaps  in  its  bosom 
He  was  already  at  rest,  and  she  longed  to  slumber 

beside  him. 
Sometimes  a  rumor,  a  hearsay,  an  inarticulate 

whisper, 
Came  with  its  airy  hand  to  point  and  beckon 

her  forward. 
Sometimes  she  spake  with  those  who  had  seen 

her  beloved  and  known  him, 


84  Evangeline. 

But  it  was  long  ago,  in  some  far-off  place  or  for 
gotten. 

"Gabriel  Lajetmesse!"  they  said;  "O  yes!  we 
have  seen  him. 

He  was  with  Basil  the  blacksmith,  and  both  have 
gone  to  the  prairies ; 

Coureurs-des-Bois  are  they,  and  famous  hunters 
and  trappers." 

"Gabriel  Lajeunesse!"  said  others;  "O  yes!  we 
have  seen  him. 

He  is  a  Voyageur  in  the  lowlands  of  Louisi 
ana." 

Then  would  they  say,  "  Dear  child  !  why  dream 
and  wait  for  him  longer? 

Are  there  not  other  youths  as  fair  as  Gabriel  ? 
others 

Who  have  hearts  as  tender  and  true,  and  spirits 
as  loyal  ? 

Here  is  Baptiste  Leblanc,  the  notary's  son,  who 
has  loved  thee 


Evangeline.  85 

Many  a  tedious  year ;  come,  give  him  thy  hand 
and  be  happy! 

Thou  art  too  fair  to  be  left  to  braid  St.  Catherine's 
tresses." 

Then  would  Evangeline  answer,  serenely  but  sad 
ly,  "  I  cannot ! 

Whither  my  heart  has  gone,  there  follows  my 
hand,  and  not  elsewhere. 

For  when  the  heart  goes  before,  like  a  lamp, 
and  illumines  the  pathway, 

Many  things  are  made  clear,  that  else  lie  hidden 
in  darkness." 

Thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and  father-con 
fessor, 

r 

Said,  with  a  smile,  \  "  O  daughter  !  thy  God  thus 

L—j 
speaketh  within  thee ! 

Talk  not  of  wasted  affection,  affection  never  was 

wasted  ; 
If  it  enrich  not  the  heart  of  another,  its  waters, 

returning 


86  Evangeline. 

Back  to  their  springs,  like  the  rain,  shall  fill  them 
full  of  refreshment ; 

That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns 
again  to  the  fountain. 

Patience  ;  accomplish  thy  labor ;  accomplish  thy, 
work  of  affection ! 

Sorrow  and  silence  are  strongj  and  patient  en 
durance  is  godlike. 

Therefore  accomplish  thy  labor  of  love,  till  the 

heart  is  made  godlike, 
^  * 
\Purified,  strengthened,  perfected,    and    rendered 

more  worthy  of  heaven  !  '• 
Cheered  by  the  good  man's  words,   Evangeline 

labored   and   waited. 
Still  in  her  heart  she  heard  the  funeral  dirge  of 

the  ocean, 
But  with  its   sound  there  was  mingled  a  voice 

that  whispered,   "  Despair  not !  " 
Thus   did   that  poor  soul  wander  in  want  and 

cheerless  discomfort, 


Evangeline.  87 

Bleeding,  barefooted,  over  the  shards  and  thorns 

of  existence. 
Let  me'esfsay,  O  Muse!  to  follow  the  wander- 

»       r 

ers  'footsteps  ;i — 
Not  through  each  devious  path,  each  changeful 

year  of  existence  ; 
But   as  a  traveller  follows  a  streamlet's  course 

through  the  valley  : 
Far   from  its  margin   at  times,  and   seeing  the 

gleam  of  its  water 
Here  and  there,   in    some   open   space,    and   at 

intervals  only ; 
Then  drawing  nearer  its  banks,  through  sylvan 

glooms  that  conceal  it, 

Though  he  behold  it  not,  he  can  hear  its  contin 
uous  murmur  ; 
Happy,  at  length,  if  he  find  the  spot  where  it 

reaches  an  outlet. 


Evangeline. 


II. 


T  T  was  the  month  of  May.      Far  down  the 

Beautiful  River, 
Past  the  Ohio  shore  and  past  the  mouth  of  the 

Wabash, 
Into  the  golden  stream  of  the  broad  and  swift 

Mississippi, 
Floated   a   cumbrous    boat,  that  was  rowed   by 

Acadian  boatmen. 
It  was  a  band  of  exiles :  a  raft,  as  it  were,  from 

the  shipwrecked 
Nation,  scattered  along  the  coast,   now  floating 

together, 
Bound  by  the  bonds  of  a  common  belief  and  a 

common  misfortune  ; 
Men  and  women  and  children,  who,  guided  by 

hope  or  by  hearsay, 


Evangeline.  89 

Sought  for  their  kith  and  their  kin  among  the 

few-acred  farmers 
On  the  Acadian  coast,  and  the  prairies  of  fair 

Opelousas. 
With  them  Evangeline  went,  and  her  guide,  the 

Father  Felician. 
Onward  o'er  sunken  sands,  through  a  wilderness 

sombre  with  forests, 
Day  after  day  they  glided  adown  the  turbulent 

river ; 
Night  after  night,  by  their  blazing  fires,  encamped 

on  its  borders. 
Now  through  rushing  chutes,  among  green  islands, 

where  plumelike 
Cotton-trees  nodded  their  shadowy  crests,  they 

swept  with  the  current, 
Then  emerged  into  broad  lagoons,  where  silvery 

sand-bars 
Lay  in  the  stream,  and  along  the  wimpling  waves 

of  their  margin, 


go  Evangeline. 

Shining  with  snow-white  plumes,  large  flocks  of 

pelicans  waded. 
Level  the  landscape  grew,  and  along  the  shores 

of  the  river, 
Shaded  by  china-trees,  in  the  midst  of  luxuriant 

gardens, 
Stood  the  houses  of  planters,  with  negro-cabins 

and  dove-cots. 
They  were  approaching  the  region  where  reigns 

perpetual  summer, 
Where  through   the  ^Golden    Coasf,   and  groves 

of  orange  and  citron, 
Sweeps  with   majestic   curve  the  river  away  to 

the  eastward. 

They,  too,  swerved  from  their  course ;  and,  enter 
ing  the  Bayou  of  Plaquemine, 
Soon  were  lost  in  a  maze  of  sluggish  and  devious 

waters, 
Which,  like  a  network  of  steel,  extended  in  every 

direction. 


Evangeline.  91 

Over  their   heads   the   towering   and  tenebrous 

boughs  of  the  cypress 
Met  in   a   dusky  arch,   and    trailing   mosses    in 

mid-air 
Waved  like  banners  that  hang  on  the  walls  of 

ancient  cathedrals. 
Deathlike  the  silence  seemed,  and  unbroken,  save 

by  the  herons 
Home  to  their  roosts  in  the  cedar-trees  returning 

at  suns.et, 
Or   by  the  owl,  as  he  greeted  the   moon  with 

demoniac  laughter. 
I 
Lovely   the   moonlight   was   as    it   glanced   and 

gleamed  on  the  water, 
Gleamed  on  the  columns   of  cypress  and   cedar 

sustaining  the  arches, 
Down    through    wrhose    broken    vaults  it  fell  as 

through  chinks  in  a  ruin. 
Dreamlike,  and  indistinct,  and  strange  were  all 

things  around  them  ; 


92  Evangeline. 

And  o'er  their  spirits  there  came  a  feeling  of 

wonder  and  sadness, — 
Strange  forebodings  of  ill,  unseen  and  that  cannot 

be  compassed. 
As,  at  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the  turf 

of  the  prairies, 
Far  in   advance    are    closed    the   leaves    of  the 

shrinking  mimosa, 
So,  at  the  hoof-beats  of  fate,  with  sad  forebodings 

of  evil, 
Shrinks  and  closes  the  heart,  ere  the  stroke  of 

doom  has  attained  it. 

^BS^/ 

But  Evangeline's  heart  was  sustained  by  a  vision, 
that  faintly 

Floated  before  her  eyes,  and  beckoned  her  on 
through  the  moonlight. 

It  was  the  thought  of  her  brain  that  assumed 
the  shape  of  a  phantom. 

Through  those  shadowy  aisles  had  Gabriel  wan 
dered  before  her, 


Evangeline.  93 

And  every  stroke  of  the  oar  now  brought  him 
nearer  and  nearer. 

Then  in  his  place,  at  the  prow  of  the  boat, 

rose  one  of  the  oarsmen, 
And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  per- 

adventure 
Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight  streams, 

blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle. 
Wild  through  the  dark  colonnades  and  corridors 

leafy  the  blast  rang, 
Breaking  the  seal  of  silence,  and  giving  tongues 

to  the  forest. 
Soundless  above  them  the  banners  of  moss  just 

stirred  to  the  music. 
Multitudinous   echoes   awoke   and   died   in    the 

distance, 
Over  the  watery  floor,  and  beneath  the  reverberant 

branches ; 
But  not  a  voice  replied ;  no  answer  came  from 

the  darkness ; 


tan 

LsSl 


94  Evangeline. 

And,  when  the  echoes  had  ceased,  like  a  sense 

of  pain  was  the  silence. 
Then  Evangeline  slept ;  but  the  boatmen  rowed 

through  the  midnight, 
Silent  at  times,  then  singing  familiar  Canadian 

boat-songs, 
Such  as  they  sang  of  old  on  their  own  Acadi^ 

rivers, 

While  through  the  night  were  heard  the  myste 
rious  sounds  of  the  desert, 
Far   off,  —  indistinct,  —  as   of  wave    or  wind  in 

the  forest, 
Mixed  with  the  whoop  of  the  crane  and  the  roar 

of  the  grim  alligator. 

Thus  ere  another  noon  they  emerged  from  the 
shades ;  and  before  them 

Lay,  in  the  golden  sun,  the  lakes  of  the  Atcha- 
falaya. 

Water-lilies  in  myriads  rocked  on  the  slight  undu 
lations 


Evangeline.  95 

* 
Made  by  the  passing  oars,  and,   resplendent  in 

beauty,  the  lotus 
Lifted  her  golden  crown  above  the  heads  of  the 

boatmen. 
Faint  was    the  air  v/ith  the  odorous  breath  of 

•  magnolia  blossoms, 

f 

And   with   the   heat   of  noon ;    and   numberless 

sylvan  islands, 
Fragrant  and  thickly  embowered  with  blossoming 

hedges  of  roses, 
Near  to  whose  shores  they  glided  along,  invited 

to  slumber. 
Soon  by  the  fairest  of  these  their  weary  oars  were 

suspended. 
Under  the  boughs  of  Wachita  willows,  that  grew 

by  the  margin, 
Safely   their   boat   was   moored ;   and   scattered 

about  on  the  greensward, 
Tired  with  their  midnight  toil,  the  weary  travellers 

slumbered. 


96  Evangeline. 

* 
Over  them  vast  and  high  extended  the  cope  of 

a  cedar. 
Swinging  from  its  great  arms,  the  trumpet-flower 

and  the  grape-vine 
Hung  their  ladder  of  ropes  aloft  like  the  ladder 

of  Jacob, 
On  whose  pendulous  stairs  the  angels  ascending, 

descending, 
Were  the  swift  humming-birds,  that  flitted  from 

blossom  to  blossom. 
Such   was   the   vision    Evangeline    saw   as    she 

slumbered  beneath  it. 
Filled  was  her  heart  with  love,  and   the   dawn 

of  an  opening  heaven 
Lighted   her   soul   in  Asleep   with    the    glory   of 

regions  celestial. 

Nearer  and  ever  nearer,  among  the  number 
less  islands, 

Darted  a  light,  swift  boat,  that  sped  away  o'er 
the  water, 


Evangeline.  97 

Urged  on  its  course  by  the  sinewy  arms  of  hunters 

and  trappers. 
Northward  its  prow  was  turned,  to  the  land  of 

the  bison  and  beaver. 
At   the    helm    sat    a    youth,    with    countenance 

thoughtful  and  care-worn. 
Dark  and  neglected  locks  overshadowed  his  brow, 

and  a  sadness 
Somewhat   beyond   his   years    on    his    face  was 

legibly  written. 
Gabriel  was  it,  who,  weary  with  waiting,  unhappy 

and  restless, 
Sought  in  the  Western  wilds  oblivion  of  self  and 

of  sorrow. 
Swiftly  they  glided  along,  close  under  the  lee  of 

the  island, 
But  by  the  opposite  bank,  and  behind  a  screen 

of  palmettos, 
So   that   they  saw  not   the   boat,  where   it   lay 

concealed  in  the  willows, 

7 


98  Evangeline. 

All  undisturbed  by  the  dash  of  their  oars,  and 

unseen,  were  the  sleepers, 
Angel  of  God  was   there   none   to  awaken  the 

slumbering  maiden. 
Swiftly  they  glided  away,  like  the  shade  of  a 

cloud  on  the  prairie. 
After  the  sound  of  their  oars  on  the  tholes  had 

died  in  the  distance, 
As  from  a  magic  trance  the  sleepers  awoke,  and 

the  maiden 
Said  with  a  sigh  to  the  friendly  priest,  "  O  Father 

Felician  ! 
Something  says  in  my  heart  that  near  me  Gabriel 

wanders. 

Is  it  a  foolish  dream,  an  idle  and  vague  super 
stition  ? 
Or  has  an  angel  passed,  and  revealed  the  truth 

to  my  spirit  ?  " 
Then,  with  a  blush,   she  added,   "Alas  for  my 

credulous  fancy ! 


Evangeline.  99 

Unto  ears  like  thine  such  words  as  these  have 

no  meaning." 
But  made  answer  the  reverend  man,  and  he  smiled 

as  he  answered,  — 
"  Daughter,  thy  words  are  not  idle  ;  nor  are  they 

to  me  without  meaning. 
Feeling    is   deep  and   still  ;    and  the  word  that 

floats  on  the  surface 
Is  as  the  tossing  buoy,  that  betrays  where  the 

anchor  is  hidden. 
Therefore  trust  to  thy  heart,   and  to  what  the 

world  calls  illusions. 
Gabriel  truly  is  near  thee  ;  for  not  far  away  to 

the  southward, 

(£<yi£2 

On  the  banks  of  the  Teche,   are    the   towns    of 

St.  Maur  and  St.  Martin. 
There  the  long-wandering  bride  shall  be  given 

again  to  her  bridegroom, 
There  the  long-absent  pastor  regain  his  flock  and 

his  sheepfold. 


ioo  Evangeline. 

Beautiful  is  the  land,  with  its  prairies  and  forests 

of  fruit-trees  ; 
Under  the  feet  a  garden  of  flowers,  and  the  bluest 

of  heavens 
Bending  above,  and  resting  its  dome  on  the  walls 

of  the  forest. 
They  who  dwell  there  have  -  named  it  the  Eden 

of  Louisiana." 

With   these  words    of  cheer   they   arose   and 

continued  their  journey. 
Softly  the   evening   came.      The    sun   from    the 

western  horizon 
Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden  wand  o'er 

the  landscape  ; 
Twinkling  vapors  arose ;  and  sky  and  water  and 

forest 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,  and  melted  and 

mingled  together. 
Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  cloud  with  edges 

of  silver, 


Evangeline., 


Floated  the  boat,  with  its  dripping  oars,  on  the 

motionless  water. 

'+*  - 

Filled  was  Evangeline's  heart  with  inexpressible 
sweetness. 

Touched  by  the  magic  spell,  the  sacred  fountains 
of  feeling 

Glowed  with  the  light  of  love,  as  the  skies  and 
waters  around  her. 

Then  from  a  neighboring  thicket  the  mocking 
bird,  wildest  of  singers, 

Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er 
the  water, 

Shook  from   his  little  throat  such  floods  of  de 
lirious  music, 

.That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves 
seemed  silent  to  listen. '   WWIIA  $/£ 

Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad  ;  then 

soaring  to  madness 

Seemed   they   to   follow  or   guide   the   revel   of 
frenzied  Bacchantes. 


Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low 

lamentation  ; 
Till,   having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung  them 

abroad  in  derision, 
As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through 

the  tree-tops 

,     eJtLJIjVYWMW 

Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower 

on  the  branches. 
With    such   a   prelude  as  this,  and  hearts  that 

throbbed  with   emotion, 
Slowly  they  entered  the  Teche,   where  it  flows 

through  the  green  Opelousas, 
And,  through  the  amber  air,  above  the  crest  of 

the  woodland, 
Saw  the   column   of  smoke  that   arose   from    a 

neighboring  dwelling ;  — 
Sounds  of  a  horn  they  heard,  and  the  distant 

lowing  of  cattle. 

i 


Evangeline.  103 


III. 

"XT  EAR  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  overshadowed 
by  oaks,  from  whose  branches 

Garlands  of  Sjpanisl^moss  and  of  mystic  mistletoe 
flaunted, 

Such  as  the  Druids  cut  down  with  golden  hatchets 
at  Yule-tide, 

Stood,  secluded  and  still,  the  house  of  the  herds 
man.  A  garden 

Girded  it  round  about  with  a  belt  of  luxuriant 
blossoms, 

Filling  the  air  with  fragrance.  The  house  itself 
was  of  timbers 

Hewn  from  the  cypress-tree,  and  carefully  fitted 
together. 

Large  and  low  was  the  roof;  and  on  slender 
columns  supported, 


IO4  Evangeline. 

Rose-wreathed,  vine-encircled,  a  broad  and  spa 
cious  veranda, 

Haunt   of  the  humming-bird   and   the   bee,   ex 
tended  around  it. 

At  each  end  of  the  house,  amid  the  flowers   of 
the  garden, 

Stationed  the  dove-cots  were,  as  love's  perpetual 
symbol, 

Scenes  of  endless  wooing,  and  endless  conten 
tions  of  rivals. 

Silence  reigned  o'er  the  place.  The  line  of  shadow 
and  sunshine 

Ran  near  the  tops  of  the  trees  ;  but  the  house 
itself  was  in  shadow, 

And  from  its  chimney-top,  ascending  and  slowly 
expanding 

Into  the  evening  air,  a  thin  blue  column  of  smoke 
rose. 

In  the  rear  of  the  house,  from  the  garden  gate, 
ran  a  pathway^ 


Evangeline.  105 

Through  the  great  groves  of  oak  to  the  skirts  of 

the  limitless  prairie, 
Into    whose  sea  of  flowers  the   sun  was  slowly 

descending. 
Full  in  his  track  of  light,  like  ships  with  shadowy 

canvas 
Hanging  loose  from  their  spars  in  a  motionless 

calm  in  the  tropics, 
Stood  a  cluster  of  trees,  with  tangled  cordage 

of  grape-vines. 

Just  where  the  woodlands  met  the  flowery  surf 

of  the  prairie, 
Mounted    upon  his  horse,    with   Spanish  saddle 

and  stirrups, 
Sat  a  herdsman,  arrayed  in  gaiters  and  doublet 

of  deerskin. 
Broad  and  brown  was  the  face  that  from  under 

the  Spanish  sombrero 
Gazed  on  the  peaceful  scene,  with  the  lordly  look 

of  its  master. 


io6  Evangeline. 

Round  about  him  were  numberless  herds  of  kine, 

that  were  grazing 
Quietly  in  the  meadows,  and  breathing  the  vapory 

freshness 
That  uprose  from  the  river,  and  spread  itself  over 

the  landscape. 
Slowly  lifting  the  horn  that  hung  at  his  side,  and 

expanding 
Fully  his  broad,  deep  chest,  he  blew  a  blast,  that 

resounded 
Wildly  and  sweet  and  far,  through  the  still  damp 

air  of  the  evening. 
Suddenly  out  of  the  grass  the  long  white  horns 

of  the  cattle 
Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse  currents 

of  ocean. 
Silent    a    moment   they   gazed,   then   bellowing 

rushed  o'er  the  prairie, 
And  the  whole  mass  became  a  cloud,  a  shade 

in  the  distance. 


Evangeline.  107 

Then,    as   the   herdsman   turned   to   the   house, 

through  the  gate^of  the  garden 
Saw  he  the  forms  of  the  priest  and  the  maiden 

advancing  to  meet  him. 
Suddenly   down   from    his   horse   he    sprang    in 

amazement,  and  forward 
Rushed   with   extended   arms  and  exclamations 

of  wonder ; 
When  they  beheld  his  face,  they  recognized  Basil 

the  blacksmith. 
Hearty  his  welcome  was,  as  he  led  his  guests  to 

the  garden. 
There  in  an  arbor  of  roses  with  endless  question 

and  answer 
Gave  they  vent  to  their  hearts,  and  renewed  their 

friendly  embraces, 
Laughing  and  weeping  by  turns,  or  sitting  silent 

and  thoughtful. 
Thoughtful,  for  Gabriel  came  not ;  and  now  dark 

doubts  and  misgivings 


io8  Evangeline. 

Stole  o'er  the  maiden's  heart ;  and  Basil,  some 
what  embarrassed, 

Broke  the  silence  and  said,  "  If  you  came  by 
the  Atchafalaya, 

How  have  you  nowhere  encountered  my  Ga 
briel's  boat  on  the  bayous  ? " 

Over  Evangeline's  face  at  the  words  of  Basil  a 
shade  passed. 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  with  a 
tremulous  accent, 

"  Gone  ?  is  Gabriel  gone  ? "  and,  concealing  her 
face  on  his  shoulder, 

All  her  o'erburdened  heart  gave  way,  and  she 
wept  and  lamented. 

Then  the  good  Basil  said,  —  and  his  voice  grew 
blithe  as  he  said  it, — 

"  Be  of  good  c'heer,  my  child  ;  it  is  only  to-day 
he  departed. 

Foolish  boy !  he  has  left  me  alone  with  my  herds 
and  my  horses. 


Evangeline.  109 

Moody  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and  troubled, 

his  spirit  ^ 

Could  no  longer  endure  the  calm  of  this  quiet 

existence. 
Thinking  ever  of  thee,  uncertain  and  sorrowful 

ever, 
Ever  silent,    or   speaking  only  of  thee   and  his 

troubles, 
He  at  length  had  become  so  tedious  to  men  and 

to  maidens, 
Tedious  even  to  me,  that  at  length  I  bethought 

me,  and  sent  him 
Unto  the  town  of  Adayes  to  trade  for  mules  with 

the  Spaniards. 
Thence  he  will  follow  the   Indian  trails  to  the 

Ozark  Mountains, 
Hunting  for  furs  in  the  forests,  on  rivers  trapping 

the  beaver. 
Therefore  be  of  good  cheer  ;  we  will  follow  the 

fugitive  lover; 


no  Evangeline. 

He  is  not  far  on  his  way,   and  the   Fates  and 

the  streams  are  against  him. 
Up  and   away  to-morrow,   and  through   the  red 

dew  of  the  morning 
We   will    follow  him  fast,  and  bring  him  back 

to  his  prison," 

Then  glad  voices  were  heard,  and  up  from  the 

banks  of  the  river, 
Borne  aloft  on  his  comrades'  arms,  came  Michael 

the  fiddler. 
Long  under  Basil's  roof  had  he  lived  like  a  god 

on  Olympus, 
Having  no  other  care  than  dispensing  music  to 

mortals. 
Far  renowned   was  he  for  his  silver  locks  and 

his  fiddle. 
"  Long   live    Michael,"    they   cried,    "  our    brave 

Acadian  minstrel ! " 
As  they  bore  him  aloft  in  triumphal  procession ; 

and  straightway 


Evangeline.  1 1 1 

Father  Felician  advanced  with  Evangeline,  greet 
ing  the  old  man 
Kindly   and    oft,    and    recalling   the  past,   while 

Basil,  enraptured, 
Hailed  with  hilarious  joy  his  old  companions  and 

gossips, 
Laughing  loud  and  long,  and  embracing  mothers 

and  daughters. 
Much  they  marvelled  to  see  the  wealth  of  the 

ci-devant  blacksmith, 
All  his  domains  and  his  herds,  and  his  patriarchal 

demeanor ; 
Much   they  marvelled  to  hear  his  tales  of  the 

soil  and  the  climate, 
And    of  the   prairies,    whose    numberless   herds 

were  his  who  would  take  them; 
Each  one  thought  in  his  heart,  that  he,  too,  would 

go  and  do  liktewise. 
Thus  they  ascended  the  steps,  and,  crossing  the 

breezy  veranda, 


1 1 2  Evangeline. 

Entered    the   hall    of  the    house,   where  already 

the  supper  of  Basil 
Waited   his   late    return ;    and    they    rested   and 

feasted  together. 

Over    the  joyous   feast   the    sudden   darkness 

descended.- 

All  was  silent  without,  and,  illuming  the  land 
scape  with  silver, 
Fair  rose  the  dewy  moon  and  the  myriad  stars  ; 

but  within  doors, 
Brighter  than  these,  shone  the  faces  of  friends 

in  the  glimmering  lamplight. 
Then  from  his  station  aloft,  at  the  head  of  the 

table,  the  herdsman 
Poured   forth    his  heart  and   his  wine   together 

in  endless  profusion. 
Lighting  his   pipe,    that   was   filled   with    sweet 

Natchitoches  tobacco, 
Thus  he  spake  to  his  guests,  who  listened,  and 

smiled  as  they  listened  :  — 


Evangeline.  113 

"Welcome    once    more,    my   friends,   who    long 

have  been  friendless  and  homeless, 
Welcome  once  more  to   a  home,  that  is  better 

perchance  than  the  old  one ! 
Here  no  hungry  winter  congeals  our  blood  like 

the  rivers ; 
Here   no   stony  ground   provokes  the  wrath  of 

the    farmer. 
Smoothly  the  ploughshare  runs  through  the  soil, 

as  a  keel  through  the  water. 
All   the   year   round   the   orange-groves   are    in 

blossom ;  and  grass  grows 
More  in  a  single  night  than  a  whole  Canadian 

summer. 

Here,   too,   numberless  herds  run  wild   and  un 
claimed  in  the  prairies  ; 
Here,  too,  lands  may  be  had  for  the  asking,  and 

forests  of  timber 
With  a  few  blows  of  the  axe  are  hewn  and  framed 

into  houses. 

8 


H4  Evangeline. 

After  your  houses  are  built,  and  your  fields  are 

yellow  with  harvests, 
No  King  George  of  England  shall  drive  you  away 

from  your  homesteads, 
Burning  your  dwellings  and  barns,  and  stealing 

your  farms  and  your  cattle." 
Speaking  these  words,  he  blew  a  wrathful  cloud 

from  his  nostrils, 
While  hie  huge,  brown   hand   came  thundering 

down  on  the  table, 
So  that  the  guests  all  started  ;  and  Father  Fe- 

lician,  astounded, 

Suddenly  paused,  with    a   pinch    of    snuff  half 
way  to  his  nostrils. 
But  the  brave  Basil  resumed,  and  his  words  were 

milder  and  gayer  :  — 
"Only  beware  of  the  fever,  my  friends,  beware 

of  the  fever ! 
For   it   is   not   like   that   of  our   cold    Acadian 

climate, 


Evangeline.  1 1 5 

Cured   by  wearing   a   spider   hung  round  one's 

neck  in  a  nutshell ! " 
Then  there  were  voices  heard  at  the  door,  and 

footsteps  approaching 
Sounded  upon  the  stairs  and  the  floor   of  the 

breezy  veranda. 
It  was  the  neighboring  Creoles  and  small  Acadian 

planters, 
Who  had  been  summoned   all  to  the   house  of 

Basil  the  Herdsman. 
Merry  the  meeting  was  of  ancient  comrades  and 

neighbors : 
Friend  clasped  friend  in  his  arms  ;  and  they  who 

before  were  as  strangers, 
Meeting  in  exile,  became  straightway  as  friends 

to  each  other, 
Drawn  by  the  gentle  bond  of  a  common  country 

together. 
But  in  the  neighboring  hall  a  strain   of  music, 

proceeding 


n6  Evangeline. 

From  the  accordant  strings  of  Michael's  melo 
dious  fiddle, 

Broke  up  all  further  speech.  Away,  like  children 
delighted, 

All  things  forgotten  beside,  they  gave  themselves 
to  the  maddening 

Whirl  of  the  dizzy  dance,  as  it  swept  and  swayed 
to  the  music, 

Dreamlike,  with  beaming  eyes  and  the  rush  of 
fluttering  garments. 

Meanwhile,  apart,  at  the  head  of  the  hall,  the 
priest  and  the  herdsman 

Sat,  conversing  together  of  past  and  present  and 
future ; 

While  Evangeline  stood  like  one  entranced,  for 
within  her 

Olden  memories  rose,  and  loud  in  the  midst  of 
the  music 

Heard  she  the  sound  of  the  sea,  and  an  irre 
pressible  sadness 


Evangeline.  117 

Came  o'er  her  heart,  and  unseen  she  stole  forth 

into  the  garden.  *- 
Beautiful  was  the  night.     Behind  the  black  wall 

of  the  forest, 
Tipping  its  summit  with  silver,  arose  the  moon. 

On  the  river 
Fell   here    and   there   through    the   branches    a 

tremulous  gleam  of  the  moonlight, 
Like  the  sweet  thoughts  of  love  on  a  darkened 

and  devious  spirit. 
Nearer  and  round  about  her,  the  manifold  flowers 

of  the  garden 
Poured  out  their  souls  in  odors,  that  were  their 

prayers  and  confessions 
Unto  the  night,  as  it  went  its  way,  like  a  silent 

Carthusian. 
Fuller  of  fragrance  than  they,  and  as  heavy  with 

shadows  and  night-dews, 
Hung  the  heart  of  the  maiden.     The  calm  and 

the  magical  moonlight 


1 1 8  Evangeline. 

Seemed  to  inundate   her  soul   with   indefinable 

longings, 
As,  through  the  garden  gate,  and  beneath   the 

shade  of  the  oak-trees, 
Passed  she  along  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the 

measureless  prairie. 
Silent  it  lay,  with   a   silvery  haze   upon  it,  and 

fireflies . 
Gleaming    and    floating   away    in    mingled    and 

infinite  numbers. 
Over  her  head  the   stars,  the  thoughts  of  God 

in  the  heavens, 
Shone  on  the  eyes  of  man,  who  had  ceased  to 

marvel  and  worship, 
Save   when    a   blazing   comet  was  seen  on  the 

walls  of  that  temple, 
As  if  a   hand   had   appeared  and  written  upon 

them,  "  Upharsin." 
And  the  soul  of  the  maiden,  between  the  stars 

and  the  fireflies, 


Evangeline.  119 

Wandered   alone,  and   she   cried,    "  O    Gabriel ! 

O   my  beloved !    ^ 
Art  thou  so   near  unto  me,  and  yet   I   cannot 

behold  thee? 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  thy  voice 

does  not  reach  me  ? 
Ah !  how  often  thy  feet  have  trod  this  path  to 

the  prairie ! 
Ah  !  how  often  thine  eyes  have  looked  on   the 

woodlands  around  me ! 
Ah !  how  often  beneath  this  oak,  returning  from 

labor, 
Thou  hast  lain  down   to  rest,  and   to  dream  of 

me  in  thy  slumbers. 
When  shall  these  eyes  behold,    these   arms   be 

folded  about  thee  ?  " 
Loud  and  sudden  and  near  the  note  of  a  whip- 

poorwill  sounded 
Like  a  flute  in  the  woods  ;   and  anon,  through 

the  neighboring  thickets, 


1 20  Evangeline. 

Farther  and  farther  away  it  floated  and  dropped 
into  silence. 

v 

"  Patience ! "  whispered  the  oaks  from  oracular 

caverns  of  darkness  ; 
And,  from  the  moonlit  meadow,  a  sigh  responded, 

"  To-morrow ! " 

Bright   rose   the   sun   next   day  ;  and  all  the 

flowers  of  the  garden 
Bathed   his    shining   feet   with   their  tears,   and 

anointed  his  tresses 
With  the  delicious  balm  that  they  bore  in  their 

vases  of  crystal. 
"  Farewell ! "  said  the  priest,  as  he  stood  at  the 

shadowy  threshold ; 
"  See  that  you  bring  us  the  Prodigal  Son  from 

his  fasting  and  famine, 
And,  too,   the   Foolish  Virgin,  who  slept  when 

the  bridegroom  was  coming." 
"  Farewell ! "  answered  the  maiden,  and,  smiling, 

with  Basil  descended 


Evangeline.  121 

Down  to  the  river's  brink,  where  the  boatmen 

already  were  waiting. 
Thus  beginning  their  journey  with  morning,  and 

sunshine,  and  gladness, 
Swiftly   they   followed   the   flight    of    him    who 

was  speeding  before  them, 
Blown  by  the  blast  of  fate  like  a  dead  leaf  over 

the  desert. 
Not  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  yet  the  day  that 

succeeded, 
Found  they  trace  of  his  course,  in  lake  or  forest 

or  river, 
Nor,  after  many  days,  had  they  found  him  ;  but 

vague  and  uncertain 
Rumors  alone  were  their  guides  through  a  wild 

and  desolate  country ; 
Till,  at  the  little  inn  of  the    Spanish   town   of 

Adayes, 
Weary  and  worn,  they  alighted,  and  learned  from 

the  garrulous  landlord. 


122 


Evangeline. 


That  on  the  day  before,  with  horses  and  guides 

and  companions, 
Gabriel   left   the  village,    and   took  the  road  of 

the  prairies. 


Evangeline.  123 


IV. 

in  the  West  there  lies  a  desert  land, 
where  the  mountains 

Lift,  through  perpetual  snows,  their  lofty  and 
luminous  summits. 

Down  from  their  jagged,  deep  ravines,  where 
the  gorge,  like  a  gateway, 

Opens  a  passage  rude  to  the  wheels  of  the  emi 
grant's  wagon, 

Westward  the  Oregon  flows  and  the  Walleway 
and  Owyhee. 

Eastward,  with  devious  course,  among  the  Wind- 
river  Mountains, 

Through  the  Sweet-water  Valley  precipitate 
leaps  the  Nebraska; 

And  to  the  south,  from  Fontaine-qui-bout  and 
the  Spanish  sierras, 


1 24  Evangeline. 

Fretted   with   sands   and   rocks,    and   swept   by 

the  wind  of  the  desert, 

Numberless   torrents,  with  ceaseless   sound,  de 
scend  to  the  ocean, 
Like    the  great  chords  of  a  harp,   in  loud  and 

solemn  vibrations. 
Spreading  between  these  streams  are  the  wori- 

drous,  beautiful  prairies, 
Billowy  bays  of  grass  ever  rolling  in  shadow  and 

sunshine, 
Bright    with    luxuriant    clusters     of    roses    and 

purple  amorphas. 
Over  them  wandered  the  buffalo  herds,  and  the 

elk  and  the  roebuck  ; 
Over  them  wandered   the  wolves,  and   herds  of 

riderless  horses  ; 
Fires  that  blast  and  blight,  and  winds  that  are 

weary  with  travel ; 
Over  them  wahder  the   scattered  tribes  of  Ish- 

mael's  children, 


Evangeline.  125 

Staining  the  desert  with  blood  ;  and  above  their 

terrible  war-trails*- 
Circles  and  sails  aloft,  on  pinions  majestic,  the 

vulture, 

Like  the   implacable  soul  of  a  chieftain  slaugh 
tered  in  battle, 
By   invisible    stairs    ascending   and    scaling    the 

heavens. 
Here  and  there  rise  smokes  from  the  camps  of 

these  savage  marauders ; 
Here   and   there  rise  groves  from  the  margins 

of  swift-running  rivers  ; 
And  the  grim,  taciturn  bear,  the  anchorite  monk 

of  the  desert, 
Climbs  down  their  dark  ravines  to  dig  for  roots 

by  the  brookside, 
And  over  all  is  the  sky,  the  clear  and  crystalline 

heaven, 
Like  the  protecting  hand  of  God  inverted  above 

them. 


1 26  Evangeline. 

Into  this  wonderful  land,  at  the  base  of  the 

Ozark  Mountains, 
Gabriel    far    had    entered,    with     hunters    and 

trappers  behind  him. 
Day   after   day,   with    their   Indian    guides,   the 

maiden  and  Basil 
Followed  his  flying  steps,  and  thought  each  day 

to  o'ertake  him. 
Sometimes  they  saw,  or  thought  they  saw,  the 

smoke  of  his  camp-fire 
Rise  in  the  morning  air  from  the  distant  plain  ; 

but  at  nightfall, 
When  they  had  reached  the  place,  they  found 

only  embers  and  ashes. 
And,  though  their  hearts  were  sad  at  times  and 

their  bodies  were  wreary, 
Hope  still  guided  them  on,  as  the  magic  Fata 

Morgana 
Showed  them  her  lakes  of  light,  that  retreated 

and  vanished  before  them. 


Evangeline.  127 

Once,  as  they  sat  by  their  evening  fire,  there 

silently  entered 

j  «»>* 

Into  the  little  camp  an   Indian  woman,  whose 

features 
Wore   deep   traces   of  sorrow,   and   patience  as 

great  as  her  sorrow. 
She  was  a  Shawnea  woman  returning  home  to 

her  people, 
From    the   far-ofF  hunting-grounds  of  the  cruel 

Camanches, 
Where   her   Canadian   husband,   a  Coureur-des- 

Bois,  had  been  murdered. 
Touched   were   their   hearts    at   her   story,    and 

warmest  and  friendliest  welcome 
Gave  they,  with  words  of  cheer,  and  she  sat  and 

feasted  among  them 
On  the  buffalo-meat  and  the  venison  cooked  on 

the  embers. 
But  when  their  meal  was  done,  and  Basil  and 

all  his  companions, 


128  Evangeline. 

Worn  with  the  long  day's  march  and  the  chase 

of  the  deer  and  the  bison, 
Stretched  themselves  on  the  ground,  and    slept 

where  the  quivering  fire-light 
Flashed  on  their  swarthy  cheeks,  and  their  forms 

wrapped  up  in  their  blankets, 
Then  at  the  door  of  Evangeline's  tent  she  sat 

and  repeated 
Slowly,  with   soft,  low  voice,  and  the  charm  of 

her  Indian  accent,  * 
All  the  tale  of  her  love,  with  its  pleasures,  and 

pains,  and  reverses. 
Much  Evangeline  wept  at  the  tale,  and  to  know 

that  another 
Hapless  heart  like  her  own  had  loved  and  had 

been  disappointed. 
Moved   to  the  depths  of  her  soul  by  pity  and 

woman's  compassion, 
Yet   in  her   sorrow  pleased  that  one  who   had 

suffered  was  near  her, 


Evangeline.  129 

She  in  turn  related  her  love  and  all  its  disas 
ters. 

Mute  with  wonder  the  Shawnee,  sat,  and  when 

\^_^___^x 

she  had  ended 
Still  was  mute  ;  but  at  length,  as  if  a  mysterious 

horror 

Passed   through   her   brain,  she   spake,  and  re 
peated  the  tale  of  the  Mowis ; 
Mowis,  the  bridegroom  of  snow,  who  won  and 

wedded  a  maiden, 
But,  when  the  morning  came,  arose  and  passed 

from  the  wigwam, 
Fading   and   melting   away  and   dissolving  into 

the  sunshine, 
Till  she  beheld  him  no  more,  though  she  followed 

far  into  the  forest. 
Then,    in   those   sweet,  low  tones,  that  seemed 

like  a  weird  incantation, 
Told  she  the  tale  of  the  fair  Lilinau,  who  was 

wooed  by  a  phantom, 


1 30  Evangeline. 

That,  through  the  pines  o'er  her  father's  lodge, 
in  the  hush  of  the  twilight, 

Breathed  like  the  evening  wind,  and  whispered 
love  to  the  maiden, 

Till  she  followed  his  green  and  waving  plume 
through  the  forest, 

And  never  more  returned,  nor  was  seen  again 
by  her  people. 

Silent  with  wonder  and  strange  surprise,  Evan 
geline  listened 

To  the  soft  flow  of  her  magical  words,  till  the 
region  around  her 

Seemed  like  enchanted  ground,  and  her  swar 
thy  guest  the  enchantress. 

Slowly  over  the  tops  of  the  Ozark  Mountains 
the  moon  rose, 

Lighting  the  little  tent,  and  with  a  mysterious 
splendor 

Touching  the  sombre  leaves,  and  embracing  and 
filling  the  woodland. 


Evangeline.  131 

With  a  delicious  sound  the  brook  rushed  by, 
and  the  branches,,. 

Swayed  and  sighed  overhead  in  scarcely  audible 
whispers. 

Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  love  was  Evange- 
line's  heart,  but  a  secret, 

Subtile  sense  crept  in  of  pain  and  indefinite 
terror, 

As  the  cold,  poisonous  snake  creeps  into  the 
nest  of  the  swallow. 

It  was  no  earthly  fear.  A  breath  from  the  re 
gion  of  spirits 

Seemed  to  float  in  the  air  of  night  ;  and  she 
felt  for  a  moment 

That,  like  the  Indian  maid,  she,  too,  was  pur 
suing  a  phantom. 

With  this  thought  she  slept,  and  the  fear  and 
the  phantom  had  vanished. 

Early   upon   the   morrow  the  march  was  re 
sumed  ;  and  the  Shawnee 


132  Evangeline. 

Said,  as  they  journeyed  along,    "  On  the  west 
ern  slope  of  these  mountains 

Dwells    in    his    little    village    the    Black    Robe 
chief  of  the  Mission. 

Much  he  teaches  the  people,  and  tells  them  of 
Mary  and  Jesus  ; 

Loud   laugh   their    hearts   with   joy,    and   weep 
with  pain,  as  they  hear  him." 

Then,    with    a    sudden     and     secret      emotion, 
Evangeline  answered, 

"Let  us  go  to  the  Mission,  for  there  good  tid 
ings  await  us  ! " 

Thither   they   turned   their  steeds  ;  and  behind 
a  spur  of  the  mountains, 

Just  as  the  sun  went  down,  they  heard  a  mur 
mur  of  voices, 

And   in   a   meadow   green   and    broad,   by    the 
bank  of  a  river, 

Saw   the   tents   of  the    Christians,  the   tents  of 
the  Jesuit  Mission. 


Evangeline.  133 

Under  a  towering  oak,  that  stood  in  the  midst 
of  the  village, 

Knelt  the  Black  Robe  chief  with  his  children. 
A  crucifix  fastened 

High  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  overshad 
owed  by  grape-vines, 

Looked  with  its  agonized  face  on  the  multitude 
kneeling  beneath  it. 

This  was  their  rural  chapel.  Aloft,  through 
the  intricate  arches 

Of  its  aerial  roof,  arose  the  chant  of  their  ves 
pers, 

Mingling  its  notes  with  the  soft  su^surrus  and 
sighs  of  the  branches. 

Silent,  with  heads  uncovered,  the  travellers, 
nearer  approaching, 

Knelt  on  the  swarded  floor,  and  joined  in  the 
evening  devotions. 

But  when  the  service  was  done,  and  the  bene 
diction  had  fallen 


154  Evangcline. 

Forth  from  the  hands  of  the  priest,  like  seed 
from  the  hands  of  the  sower, 

Slowly  the  reverend  man  advanced  to  the  stran 
gers  and  bade  them 

Welcome ;  and  when  they  replied,  he  smiled 
with  benignant  expression, 

Hearing  the  homelike  sounds  of  his  mother- 
tongue  in  the  forest, 

And,  with  words  of  kindness,  conducted  them 
into  his  wigwam. 

There  upon  mats  and  skins  they  reposed,  and 
on  cakes  of  the  maize -ear 

Feasted,  and  slaked  then-  thirst  from  the  wa 
ter  gourd  of  the  teacher. 

Soon  was  their  story  told  :  and  the  priest  with 
solemnity  answered :  — 

u  Not  six  suns  have  risen  and  set  since  Ga 
briel,  seated 

On  this  mat  by  my  side,  where  now  the  maiden 
reposes, 


Evangeline.  135 

Told   me   this   same   sad   tale ;   then   arose  and 

continued  his  journey!" 
Soft  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  he  spake 

with  an  accent  of  kindness  ; 
But  on  Evangeline's  heart  fell  his  words  as  in 

winter  the  snow-flakes 
Fall  into  some  lone  nest  from  which  the  birds 

have  departed. 
"Far  to  the  north  he  has  gone,"  continued  the 

priest ;  "  but  in  autumn, 
When  the  chase  is  done,  will  return  again  to 

the  Mission." 
Then  Evangeline  said,  and  her  voice  was  meek 

and  submissive, 
"  Let  me  remain  with  thee,  for  my  soul  is  sad 

and  afflicted." 

So  seemed  it  wise  and  well  unto  all ;  and  be 
times  on  the  morrow, 
Mounting   his    Mexican    steed,  with   his   Indian 

guides  and  companions, 


136  Evangeline. 

Homeward  Basil  returned,  and  Evangeline  stayed 
at  the  Mission. 

Slowly,  slowly,  slowly  the  days  succeeded 
each  other,  — 

Days  and  weeks  and  months ;  and  the  fields 
of  maize  that  were  springing 

Green  from  the  ground  when  a  stranger  she 
came,  now  waving  above  her, 

Lifted  their  slender  shafts,  with  leaves  interla 
cing,  and  forming 

Cloisters  for  mendicant  crows  and  granaries  pil 
laged  by  squirrels. 

Then  in  the  golden  weather  the  maize  was 
husked,  and  the  maidens 

Blushed  at  each  blood-red  ear,  for  that  beto 
kened  a  lover, 

But  at  the  crooked  laughed,  and  called  it  a  thief 
in  the  cornfield. 

Even  the  blood-red  ear  to  Evangeline  brought 
not  her  lover. 


Evangeline.  137 

"  Patience  !  "  the  priest  would  say  ;  "  have  faith, 
and  thy  prayer  will  be  answered  ! 

Look  at  this   delicate   plant  that  lifts  its  head 
from  the  meadow, 

See  how  its  leaves  are  turned  to  the  north,  as 

true  as  the  magnet ; 

\This   is  the   compass-flower,   that  the  finger  of 
God  has  planted 

Here  in  the  houseless  wild,  to  direct  the  travel 
ler's  journey 

Over   the   sea-like,   pathless,    limitless   waste    of 
the  desert. 

Such   in  the  soul  of  man   is   faith.     The   blos 
soms  of  passion, 

Gay    and    luxuriant    flowers,    are    brighter    and 
fuller  of  fragrance, 

But  they  beguile  us,    and  lead    us    astray,    and 
their  odor  is  deadly. 

Only  this  humble  plant  can  guide  us  here,  and 
hereafter 


138  Evangeline. 

Crown  us  with  asphodel  flowers,  that  are  wet 
with  the  dews  of  nepenthe."  / 

So  came  the  autumn,  and  passed,  and  the 
winter,  —  yet  Gabriel  came  not ; 

Blossomed  the  opening  spring,  and  the  notes 
of  the  robin  and  bluebird 

Sounded  sweet  upon  wold  and  in  wood,  yet 
Gabriel  came  not. 

But  on  the  breath  of  the  summer  winds  a  ru 
mor  was  wafted 

Sweeter  than  song  of  bird,  or  hue  or  odor  of 
blossom. 

Far  to  the  north  and  east,  it  said,  in  the 
Michigan  forests, 

Gabriel  had  his  lodge  by  the  banks  of  the 
Saginaw  river. 

And,  with  returning  guides,  that  sought  the 
lakes  of  St.  Lawrence, 

Saying  a  sad  farewell,  Evangeline  went  from 
the  Mission. 


Evangeline.  139 

When   over  weary  ways,  by  long  and  perilous 

marches, 
She   had   attained   at   length  the  depths  of  the 

Michigan  forests, 
Found  she  the  hunter's  lodge  deserted  and  fallen 

to  ruin  ! 

Thus  did  the  long  sad  years  glide  on,  and 
in  seasons  and  places 

Divers  and  distant  far  was  seen  the  wandering 
maiden  ;  — 

Now  in  the  Tents  of  Grace  of  the  meek  Mo 
ravian  Missions, 

Now  in  the  noisy  camps  and  the  battle-fields 
of  the  army, 

Now  in  secluded  hamlets,  in  towns  and  popu 
lous  cities. 

Like    a   phantom    she   came,   and   passed   away 

unremembered. 
r* 
Fair  was  she  and  young,  when   in  hope  began 

the  long  journey  ; 


140  Evangeline. 

Faded  was  she  and  old,  when  in  disappointment 
it  ended. 

Each  succeeding  year  stole  something  away 
from  her  beauty, 

Leaving  behind  it,  broader  and  deeper,  the 
gloom  and  the  shadow. 

Then  there  appeared  and  spread  faint  streaks 
of  gray  o'er  her  forehead, 

Dawn  of  another  life,  that  broke  o'er  her  earth 
ly  horizon, 

As  in  the  eastern  sky  the  first  faint  streaks  of 
the  morning. 


7- 

Evangeline.  141 


V. 


T  N   that  delightful  land   which  is  washed  by 

the  Delaware's  waters, 
Guarding   in    sylvan   shades  the  name  of  Penn 

the  apostle, 
Stands  on  the  banks  of  its  beautiful  stream  the 

city  he  founded. 
There  all  the  air  is  balm,  and  the  peach  is  the 

emblem  of  beauty, 
And  the  streets  still  re-echo  the  names  of  the 

trees  of  the  forest, 
As    if    they    fain    would    appease    the    Dryads 

whose  haunts  they  molested. 
There    from    the   troubled   sea   had   Evangeline 

landed,  an  exile, 
Finding   among   the   children  of  Penn  a  home 

and  a  country. 


142  Evangeline. 

There  old  Rene  Leblanc  had  died  ;  and  when 
he  departed, 

Saw  at  his  side  only  one  of  all  his  hundred 
descendants. 

Something  at  least  there  was  in  the  friendly 
streets  of  the  city, 

Something  that  spake  to  her  heart,  and  made 
her  no  longer  a  stranger  ; 

And  her  ear  was  pleased  with  the  Thee  and 
Thou  of  the  Quakers, 

For  it  recalled  the  past,  the  old  Acadian  coun 
try, 

Where  all  men  were  equal,  and  all  were  broth 
ers  and  sisters. 

So,  when  the  fruitless  search,  the  disappointed 
endeavor, 

Ended,  to  recommence  no  more  upon  earth, 
uncomplaining, 

Thither,  as  leaves  to  the  light,  were  turned  her 
thoughts  and  her  footsteps. 


Evangeline.  143 

As   from    a   mountain's   top  the  rainy  mists  of 

the  morning 
Roll   away,   and   afar  we  behold  the  landscape 

below  us, 
Sun-illumined,    with    shining    rivers    and    cities 

and  hamlets, 
So  fell  the  mists  from   her  mind,  and   she  saw 

the  world  far  below  her, 
Dark   no   longer,    but    all   illumined  with  love  ; 

and  the  pathway 
Which    she    had    climbed    so   far,    lying   smooth 

and  fair  in  the  distance. 
Gabriel   was   not   forgotten.     Within   her    heart 

was  his  image, 
Clothed   in   the   beauty  of  love   and   youth,    as 

last  she  beheld  him, 

Only  more  beautiful  made  by  his    deathlike   si 
lence  and  absence. 
Into  her  thoughts  of  him  time  entered  not,  for 

it  was  not. 


144  Evangeline. 

Over    him    years   had   no   power ;   he   was   not 

changed,  but  transfigured  ; 
He   had  become   to   her   heart   as   one   who  is 

dead,  and  not  absent; 
Patience   and   abnegation    of  self,  and  devotion 

to  others, 
This  was  the  lesson  a  life  of  trial  and  sorrow 

had  taught  her. 
So    was    her    love    diffused,   but,   like   to   some 

odorous  spices, 
Suffered   no   waste  nor  loss,  though  filling  the 

air  with  aroma. 
Other  hope  had  she  none,  nor  wish  in  life,  but 

to  follow 
Meekly,  with  reverent  steps,  the  sacred  feet  of 

her  Saviour. 

Thus  many  years  she  lived  as  a  Sister  of  Mer 
cy  ;  frequenting 
Lonely    and    wretched    roofs    in    the    crowded 

lanes  of  the  city, 


Evangeline.  145 

Where  distress  and  want  concealed  themselves 

from  the  sunligbt*, 
Where  disease  and  sorrow  in  garrets  languished 

neglected. 
Night  after  night,  when  the  world  was  asleep, 

as  the  watchman  repeated 
Loud,    through    the  gusty   streets,   that  all  was 

well  in  the  city, 
High  at  some   lonely  window  he   saw  the  light 

of  her  taper. 
Day    after   day,   in   the   gray   of  the   dawn,   as 

slow  through  the  suburbs 
Plodded  the    Germarj.  farmer,  with  flowers  and 

fruits  for  the  market, 
Met  he  that  meek,   pale   face,   returning   home 

from  its  watchings. 

Then   it  came  to  pass  that  a  pestilence  fell 
on  the  city, 


146  Evangcline. 

Presaged    by    wondrous    signs,    and    mostly   by 

flocks  of  wild  pigeons, 
Darkening  the  sun  in  their  flight,  with   naught 

in  their  craws  but  an  acorn. 
And,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea  arise  in  the  month 

of  September, 
Flooding  some  silver  stream,  till   it  spreads  to 

a  lake  in  the  meadow, 

So  death  flooded  life,  and,  o'erflowing  its  natu 
ral  margin, 
Spread  to  a  brackish  lake,  the  silver  stream  of 

existence. 
Wealth  had  no  power  to  bribe,  nor  beauty  to 

charm,  the  oppressor  ; 
But   all   perished   alike  beneath  the  scourge  of 

his  anger  ;  — 
Only,    alas !    the  poor,  who   had  neither  friends 

nor  attendants, 
Crept   away  to  die  in  the  almshouse,  home  of 

the  homeless. 


Evangcline.  147 

Then  in  the  suburbs  it  stood,  in   the  midst  of 

meadows  and  waodlands  ;  — 
Now   the  city  surrounds  it ;  but  still,   with  its 

gateway  and  wicket 
Meek,    in    the    midst    of   splendor,    its    humble 

walls  seem  to  echo 
Softly  the  words  of  the  Lord  :  —  "  The,  poor  ye 

always  have  with  you." 
Thither,  by  night  and  by  day,  came  the  Sister 

of  Mercy.     The  dying 
Looked  up  into  her  face,  and  thought,   indeed, 

to  behold  there 
Gleams  of  celestial   light   encircle  her  forehead 

with  splendor, 
Such    as    the    artist    paints    o'er   the   brows   of 

saints  and  apostles, 
Or  such  as  hangs  by  night  o'er  a  city  seen  at 

a  distance. 
Unto    their    eyes    it    seemed   the  lamps    of  the 

city  celestial, 


148  Evangeline. 

Into  whose  shining  gates  erelong  their  spirits 
would  enter. 

v"" 

Thus,  on  a  Sabbath  morn,  through  the  streets, 

deserted  and  silent, 

Werding  her  quiet  way,  she  entered  the  door 
of  the  almshouse. 

Sweet  on  the  summer  air  was  the  odor  of 
flowers  in  the  garden ; 

And  she  paused  on  her  way  to  gather  the 
fairest  among  them, 

That  the  dying  once  more  might  rejo'  %e  in 
their  fragrance  and  beauty. 

Then,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  corri 
dors,  cooled  by  the  east  wind,  /; 

Distant  and  soft  on  her  ear  fell  the  chimes  from 
the  belfry  of  Christ  Church, 

While,  intermingled  with  these,  across  the  mead 
ows  were  wafted 

Sounds  of  psalms,  that  were  sung  by  the 
Swedes  in  their  church  at  Wicacp. 


Evangeline.  149 

Soft  as  descending  wings  fell  the   calm   of  the 

hour  on  her  spirk ; 
Something    within    her    said,    "At    length   thy 

trials  are  ended  "  ; 
And,  with  light  in   her  looks,   she  entered  the 

chambers  of  sickness. 
Noise,  essly  moved  about   the  assiduous,  careful 

attendants, 
Moistening    the    feverish    lip,    and    the    aching 

brow,  and  in  silence 
Clos'-ig  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  dead,  and  con- 

ra  cealing  their  faces, 
Whe^e  on   their  pallets  they  lay,   like   drifts  of 

snow  by  the  roadside. 
$Ae»rvy   a   languid  head,  upraised  as   Evangeline 

entered, 
Turfted  on  its  pillow  of  pain  to  gaze  while  she 

passed,  for  her  presence 
Fell  on  their  hearts  like  a  ray  of  the   sun  on 

the  walls  of  a  prison. 


150  Evangeline. 

And,  as  she  looked  around,  she  saw  how  Death, 

the  consoler, 
Laying  his  hand  upon  many  a  heart,  had  healed 

it  forever. 
Many    familiar    forms    had    disappeared    in    the 

night-time  ; 
Vacant  their   places   were,   or  filled   already  by 

strangers. 

Suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  fear  or  a  feeling 

of  wonder, 
Still    she   stood,    with   her   colorless   lips   apart, 

while  a  shudder 
Ran    through    her    frame,    and,    forgotten,    the 

flowerets  dropped  from  her  fingers, 
And  from    her   eyes    and  cheeks  the  light  and 

bloom  of  the  morning. 
Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry  of  such 

terrible  anguish, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,   and  started  up  from 

their  pillows. 


Evangeline.  1 5 1 

On    the    pallet    before    her    was    stretched    the 

form  of  an  old  man. 
Long,  and  thin,  and  gray  were  the  locks  that 

shaded  his  temples ; 
But,   as  he  lay  in  the  morning  light,    his   face 

for  a  moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  forms  of  its 

earlier  manhood ; 
So  are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those 

who  are  dying. 
Hot  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the  flush 

of  the  fever, 

As  if  life,  like  the  Hebrew,  with  blood  had  be 
sprinkled  its  portals, 
That  the  Angel  of  £)eath  might  see  the  sign, 

and  pass  over. 

Motionless,    senseless,    dying,    he    lay,    and    his 

)  /^  -  /  * 
spirit  exhausted 

Seemed   to    be    sinking    down    through    infinite 
depths  in  the  darkness, 


152  Evangeline. 

Darkness  of  slumber  and  death,  forever  sinking 

and  sinking. 

Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,   in  multi 
plied  reverberations, 
Heard  he   that    cry   of  pain,   and   through   the 

hush  that  succeeded 
Whispered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and 

saint-like, 
"  Gabriel !  O  my  beloved ! "  and  died  away  into 

silence. 
Then   he    beheld,    in    a   dream,    once   more   the 

home  of  his  childhood  ; 
Green    Acadian    meadows,    with    sylvan    rivers 

among  them, 
Village,    and    mountain,    and    woodlands;     and, 

walking  under  their  shadow, 
As  in  the  days   of  her  youth,   Evangeline  rose 

in  his  vision. 
Tears   came   into   his   eyes ;   and    as   slowly   he 

lifted  his  eyelids, 


Evangeline.  153 

Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  knelt 
by  his  bedside. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name,  for  the 
accents  unuttered 

Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed 
what  his  tongue  would  have  spoken. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  rise ;  and  Evangeline,  kneel 
ing  beside  him, 

Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her 
bosom. 

Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes  ;  but  it  sud 
denly  sank  into  darkness, 

As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust  of 
wind  at  a  casement. 

All  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and   the   fear, 

and  the  sorrow, 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied 

longing, 
All   the  dull,  deep  pain,    and  constant  anguish 

of  patience  ! 


154 


Evangeline. 


And,    as    she    pressed    once    more    the    lifeless 

head  to  her  bosom, 
Meekly     she    bowed    her   own,    and    murmured, 

"  Father,  I  thank  thee  !  " 


OTILL   stands   the   forest   primeval;   but  far 

away  from  its  shadow, 
Side    by    side,    in    their    nameless    graves,    the 

lovers  are  sleeping. 
Under   the    humble  walls  of  the   little  Catholic 

churchyard, 
In  the    heart    of   the    city,    they    lie,    unknown 

and  unnoticed. 
Daily  the   tides  of  life   go  ebbing  and   flowing 

beside  them, 
Thousands  of  throbbing  hearts,  where  theirs  ar$ 

at  rest  and  forever, 
Thousands    of  aching   brains,    where   theirs   no 

longer  are  busy, 


156  Evangeline. 

Thousands  of  toiling  hands,  where  theirs  have 

ceased  from  their  labors, 
Thousands    of    weary    feet,    where    theirs   have 

completed  their  journey  ! 

Still   stands   the    forest    primeval  ;   but  under 

the  shade  of  its  branches 
Dwells   another   race,    with    other   customs   and 

language. 
Only  along  the  shore  of  the  mournful  and  misty 

Atlantic 
Linger  a  few  Acadian  peasants,   whose  fathers 

from  exile 
Wandered  back  to  their   native  land   to  die  in 

its  bosom. 
In  the  fisherman's  cot  the  wheel  and  the  loom 

are  still  busy  ; 
Maidens  still  wear  their  Norman  caps  and  their 

kirtles  of  homespun, 
And  by   the    evening    fire    repeat    Evangeline's 

story, 


Evangeline. 


157 


While  from   its  rocky  caverns  the  deep-voiced, 

neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the 

wail  of  the  forest. 


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